


Work Hard Play Hard

by justapersonreadingthings



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Baked Goods, Bakeries, Brothers, Career Changes, Dogs, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy, Hurt/Comfort, Jobs, Life Choices, Major Character Injury, Puppies, Recovery, Siblings, Sickfic, Tragedy, Whump, actually not a cafe au, careers, connor may or may not be getting his own dog, hank adopted too many children and he loves every single one of them, i hate this title too don't worry it will change once I think of something better... maybe, medium sized family written by someone with a giant sized family, more tags later on, no beta we die like red shirts, not sad promise, real siblings, realistic sibling interactions, working dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justapersonreadingthings/pseuds/justapersonreadingthings
Summary: After an on the job injury leaves him unable to continue his beloved role at the DPD, Connor takes the advice and help of his family, friends, and one very good pupper who helps him navigate the endless field that is career opportunities.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31





	1. What Happened Before

If someone had told him that, mere years after his only son’s horrific death, he would adopt not one, not two, but three boys who were technically adults in the eyes of the state but also technically below eight months each, he probably would have taken an extra shot of whiskey to drown out the crazy person yammering about his future.

But here he was. Almost a year sober enough that his head didn’t pound and he didn’t get the shakes if he went longer than a few hours without something alcoholic coursing through his blood. Sober, more mentally stable, working on himself as a person, and father to three android sons currently fighting over whose shirt was whose before work began.

“This is mine, I can literally see the dirt particles on it from where Sumo shook dirt on me from our walk last night,” Connor yanked the navy t-shirt towards himself, jabbing towards a speck of… nothing. Nothing that Hank could see, anyways.

Sixty snatched it back towards himself, “Yeah, it’s _literally_ my shirt that you got dirty! Now you owe me two - this one and one of yours while this one goes in the wash.”

Sumo barked, excited at the noise and the frantic movement of the RK800’s. The alarm on Hank’s phone went off, reminding him that they _did_ have work and they had to leave for it in the next… fifteen minutes. Nines, the only good son of his, sat silently at the kitchen table. Slowly eating a bowl of cereal. Watching, quietly amused, and taking another slow bite.

They had fifteen minutes.

“Ey!” Hank barked. The 800’s froze. Sumo sat where he stood. Nines took another excruciatingly slow bite of his cereal. “What size is the damn thing?”

“It’s mine,” Connor and Sixty shouted at once.

“What,” Hank pinched his nose, “Size. Is. The fucking. Shirt.”

A brief tug of war ensued, Connor and Sixty both yanking and shoving the cloth away from the other as they pawed for the neck. One of them succeeded.

“Large.”

Hank nearly jumped out of his dingy grey underpants when a towering figure appeared behind the twin-like brothers. Nines took the shirt from his brothers, gently smoothing out the wrinkles.

“It’s mine,” he said in his low, quiet voice.

“It’s was Sixty’s fault, he-”

“Nuh! Connor was the one-”

“ _We,_ ” Hank barked again, “have work in ten! I have not dealt with _months_ of your nagging me to be on time just to get held up by any of your stupid asses! You better be dressed, breakfasted, shoes on, and asses in car by the time I finish this coffee.”

He took a long sip, relishing the way the boys nearly slammed into each other like a 1960’s cartoon in their haste to finish getting ready. Not too unlike getting kids ready and on the bus before the school bell rang.

Nines reclaimed his seat, and his somewhat soggy bowl of cereal. He resumed his slow and steady pace. Spoon, cereal, milk, mouth. Spoon, cereal, milk, mouth. It wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t graceful. It was slow.

Hank pointed over his cup of coffee, “You’re lucky your boss doesn’t make you get in ‘til ten.”

“That’s because I stay late,” Nines stated, pausing only long enough to speak before resuming his pace.

“Making the donuts?”

Nines sighed at his father’s crooked grin. “Making the donuts.”

“I’m just teasing ya, Niles, ya know I’d have a damn heart attack if all _three_ of you wanted to jump off buildings and lick shit off the street,” Hank said. “I should be so lucky that at least ya lick good shit like frosting. Speaking of frosting, set aside a few dozen of those donuts, hmm?”

“Already got 3 boxes set aside,” Nines promised. Finished, he carefully rose from his seat and rinsed his dishes in the sink and set them aside to dry. Not any other dishes in the sink, only his own.

It was better than nothing. Gulping the last of his coffee, Hank peeked at his watch. “Three minutes! If asses are not in the car by the time I’m driving, ya’ll can walk yourselves downtown!”

Footsteps pounded, a closet door slammed. Sixty shot past.

“Connor didn’t get breakfast yet!”

“Fucking snitch!” came a voice from the bathroom, where the deviant was most likely still trying to glue his cowlicks into place.

“Fruit’s in the bowl,” Hank set his mug in the sink. “And someone better eat those god-awful granola bars ya bought last week.”

“There are day olds in the breadbox,” Nines offered kindly.

“Niles brought muffins,” Hank translated in a voice loud enough to reach whatever room Connor had darted into to grab the last of his morning goods.

The tallest of the three shook his head, “I never said muffins. We had a surplus of double-chocolate croissants yesterday.”

“And you let your own father have burnt coffee?” Hank smirked. Regardless, he quickly grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter and threw it at the medium-sized android hurrying from the bedrooms. Had he been human, the fruit would have smacked Connor in the face. As it was, he caught it as if it had never existed and darted towards the shoe and coat closet.

Slapping his pockets, Hank gave himself a quick check. Wallet, watch, spectacles, testicles, and phone. “Catch ya later tonight, Niles.”

“Bye, Nines,” Connor called over his shoulder as he zipped towards the door. “Richie, say goodbye to Nines!”

A much more muffled voice, most likely from within the Oldsmobile, called out, “I told you not to call me that!”

“Say goodbye to your brother,” Hank ordered loudly as he shrugged a coat from the rack.

“Bye, bitch.”

“ _Richard._ ”

“I meant it in the best way,” Sixty promised his father as he slammed the car door shut. Connor always got shotgun, Sixty preferred to have the entire backseat to himself, but thanks to their electronic brains the distance from seat to radio knob meant nothing and telepathic and verbal fights would break out anywhere they went.

Merely the little things that happen when you adopt three legal adults with the emotional maturity and real world experience of toddlers. Hank was willing to deal with them. The arguments, the petty fights, the shouts and backyard wrestling that got the dog all hyper and barking until the neighbors flashed their lights in warning. There was finally some noise in the little house that once felt it had breathed its last four years ago. New life hadn’t seeped back in, it had poured in like blood pouring from the elevators in _The Shining_. The best kind of culture shock was the shock of a sudden, slightly larger-than-average family.

Of course, there would always be threats to this new found normalcy.

\---------

Connor was always in one of three states - introvert, ambivert, or extrovert. In public, he tended to keep to himself. Once deviant, he didn’t deviate to find new people and experiences. By some stroke of luck he had gotten himself a couple of brothers _and_ a dad, and he was pretty close with the leaders of New Jericho. He didn’t care to expand his friend group endlessly like his pseudo-twin Sixty, or his experiences like Nines did with his major career change. Publicly, he was content to remain the quiet, observant introvert.

At home, Connor was 100% an annoying, piss-pot, bratty extroverted brother. If there was a thought in his head, no matter how boring or gross or normal or disturbing it was, everyone else in the house knew it too. He would go on endless rants about likes and dislikes with his brothers - and would jump at the chance to tweak something about Hank’s self-care and dietary habits. 

At work, Connor was whatever the heck was needed. Introvert, extrovert, a combo of the two, his job required every personality type and then some. Some people required a quiet and soothing approach, while others needed a brash and loud voice to demand action. Right now, it wasn’t Connor’s adaptability, or his many personality types that was needed. It was his speed, his strength, his energy, and his unending amounts of ADHD.

The case had been simple enough. A typical and almost cliche B&E at a jewelry shop, unique only that is had taken place in broad daylight and multiple people had seen the thief assault the shop owner once he had withdrawn a case of rings from the glass, stuff his pockets full of gold and diamonds, and take off into the streets.

Tons of eyewitnesses, and two different directions pointed every time Connor or Sixty asked the question, “Which way did they go?”

Sixty had gone one way, Connor had taken the other. And, as luck would have it, Connor had picked up a trail. Misshapen footprints with the promise of someone running blindly down the back alleys. Trash cans and boxes tripped over in haste. And, the most damning evidence of all, another recycling bin crashing noisily to the cement as the crook caught sight of one of Detroit’s finest hot on his tail.

“Stop,” Connor shouted after the retreating figure, “Detroit police!”

He sighed as the figure took off _faster_ \- cluing him in that the thief was probably an android. “Just once I’d like that to work.”

Without hesitation, Connor gave chase, sending a quick ping to his brother of their location. It was a rather boring chase, in Connor’s opinion. The deviant thief seemed to favor the fast and safe options, as opposed to the faster but risky alternate routes that would have taken their chase up fire escapes and across rooftops. Every couple of corners, the android would knock something over and slow Connor down by a few fractions of a second.

Being a prototype police android came with several perks, one of those perks being he could process at great speeds - giving him almost prophetic vision of potential future events. Or, as Cyberlife had never intended, he could let his mind wander and daydream as he skipped over another cardboard box smacked his way.

On one hand, Connor felt sympathy for the android thief. There was a high probability, no lower than 84.7%, that this brazen jewelry theft had come from necessity. The revolution had been nearly a year ago, and much had been done for their people, but distrust and racism did not clear up in a handful of months. Androids often lived in cheaply made housing with jacked up prices, and jobs were far and few between and often did not pay well. Connor was a severe anomaly, and extremely grateful that he had found not only a caring family, but been reinstated to his job after a few painfully boring months of unemployment. So, as an android who had fought for his rights at the last minute, Connor understood why crimes such as this one took place, and a part of him wanted this android to escape and sell the rings and get some groceries and pay another week’s rent.

But, at the same time, the police-bot mode on the other side of his head said _run, run, run, run, chase, catch, catch the bad guy, run, run, run_. Laws were in place for a reason. But… even from a legal side, he could probably cut the guy some slack.

He rounded another corner, gaining up on the figure finally losing steam.

“Stop, Detroit police!” he shouted again. “Please, if you stop now we might be able to go easy on you!”

The android had stopped. Not because Connor’s lightly panted words had had any effect on him, but because a stereotypically large dead-end fence blocked his path. On one side, a locked door to an abandoned building blocked off the only other alternative besides charging Connor head-on like a bull after a red flag.

“Please,” Connor held up his hands peacefully, “listen to me. The owner has agreed to not press charges if you simply return everything you took. We can all walk away from this unscathed. I know you don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t know nothing,” the android spit back. “Fucking hunter, going after your own kind.”

“I’m just an officer,” Connor promised, “and I’m on your side. I want you to be able to walk away from this. Come back with me and… I won’t even mention this whole running away from the cops thing we had going on. Which, might I add, is highly frowned upon and illegal.”

The android hesitated. Checking his statistics, he had a 57% chance of swaying the guy into giving up all the stolen goods. Which, to be frank, was rather odd as he did not seem like the type who robbed jewelry stores for fun. The probability of success should have been much higher. There was a hidden variable, Connor just needed to-

The android lunged forward. Jumping back, Connor reached for his holster.

“Step _back_ ,” he ordered. He pulled out the weapon. “ _Back up!”_

What happened next was a whirling, frazzled series of events Connor would later be unable to piece together cohesively. First, the android did _not_ back up, but instead lunged to the left towards the locked door. Most likely a frantic attempt at escape, as it would take a few whacks of Connor’s industrial strength shoulder to bust it in, let alone a typical mass-produced android. Next, and one of the more surprising series of events, the door opened. The thief launched himself inside the abandoned warehouse at the same moment a female android took his place in the doorway, her hands clutched around something metal and plastic but ultimately obscured from Connor’s vision.

 _The hidden variable_ , Connor thought to himself before something sharp and thin pierced his middle, stabbing directly through his thirium pump. _What the hell_ \- were the last words to dart through his overactive mind before every hyper-processed thought ground to a startling halt, and the blue blood in his artificial veins burned with the fire pumped into his plasti-metal heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time reader, first time fic writer so I hope it’s not cringy… xD Below are a few notes about who is who and universe-ideas. 
> 
> Connor: Just regular, good old Connor. Dog loving, hyperactive, anxiety and guilt ridden Connor. :) 
> 
> Richard/Sixty: RK800-60. Kind of the hard ass of the group. Acts like he hates his family and brothers because it’s cool to deny the feelings your kind fought to have, but if anyone messes with them then he’ll mess you up. Loves his job at the DPD. 
> 
> Niles/Nines: RK900. I know Richard is usually used for Nines, but I want to call someone Richie to annoy them and Niles just doesn’t deserve that. Gentle giant. Quiet. Sweet. Intimidating AF. Despite being pumped full of police software by Cyberlife, he doesn’t like the stress and death he witnessed on the job. Somehow became a baker because I said so ;)
> 
> And about androids - I’m not gonna pretend that even with my 3 playthroughs of the game, I’m going to memorize or even look up what every android is called and all the parts serial numbers. (I say as I research for future chapters). In my world, Deviants need to sleep and eat because it would be really sad if Nines was this amazing baker and couldn’t taste anything. Just think of it like bio-fuel. It saves on thirium so they don’t burn up their blood supply. 
> 
> So that’s that. Notes won’t always be this long but I wanted to clear these up cuz I’m probably not gonna explain them in-story. :) Just trying some new stress relief and writing warmups with this! We’ll see where this goes. :D


	2. Some Assistance Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Hospitals. Chronic, long-term injury. Very vague allusions to someone being ill.

Having never experienced a childhood, there were some things that, when experienced for the first time as an adult, were extremely disconcerting. Things like tasting something sour for the first time, chugging an entire class of ice water without any previous knowledge on what ice or water tasted like, and more recently, waking up someplace you did not remember coming to in the first place.

At least it was soft. Warm. Kind of noisy. Something was… God, his head hurt, and he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. What was that noise? Something was… beeping. Click. Whirr. A breath was forced through him. Beep. Click, Whirr. Breath.

If his head hadn’t pounded so thoroughly, he might have also noticed that his chest also ached. And his limbs. Artificial muscles, his very tubes and fake veins burning and throbbing as if he had pretended to be a balloon and floated into an electric line.

From his side, something shuffled. A voice not his own sighed. His own voice answered, an understanding groan of oof, boy, does this situation suck.

“-nn’r?”

Aw, crap, he should have stayed quiet. Whatever it was at his side was moving more now, although his voice faded in an out.

“Co-n’r… -wake? H’y, open y-…. eyes.”

_Don’t wanna_ , he thought. Or mumbled. There was some kind of disconnect in his head at the moment, and he could have been shouting every word floating randomly through his processor. Something jabbed him in the side, lightly, but enough. “Ow.”

“Hank,” the voice was clearer now, and went right through his ears and pierced his throbbing skull. “Hank- Dad, I think he’s waking up.”

Cracking open his eyes, between the flashes of _too bright,_ he caught sight of a thick figure hurrying out of a door connected to what he assumed was his room. Hank’s hands glistened, and he shook water from them before slapping them on his pants to dry.

“Connor?” the older detective prodded gently. “Scoot over Rich- Con, kiddo, can you look at me?”

Oh. He’d closed his eyes again. “Have to?” he croaked, static warping the beginnings and ends of his words.

“”’Fraid so,” Hank huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something other than humor choking it. “There ‘e is. How ya feeling there, bud?”

Well… His body felt like it’d been thrown off a roof a few dozen times and his brain felt as sluggish and discombobulated as that time Sixty had dared him to download everything on Netflix at the same time.

“I’m alright,” he decided on. Blinking to calibrate his eyes to the brightness, the room took on the more distinct shapes of a hospital room. Machines fed information through wires and into his frame, as bags of other things fed their fluids down tubes and into different parts of his body. He could feel the tight clasp of a monitor clipped around his finger, and the beep-click-whirr of what must have been something else regulating his breaths as two point six seconds after every beep he was forced to give a little breath.

Hank peered at him anxiously, his head greasier on one side from where he had run his fingers through it repeatedly in stress. Sixty had abandoned a chair pushed a few steps behind him, and stood awkwardly behind their father, his eyes furrowed in some emotion Connor didn’t want to probe him over.

Eyes still roving the room, Connor settled on one machine at random and allowed his vision to slip over the dials and screen, trail down the long wires spiraling from the ports, and all the way to where they connected… deep inside his fully exposed, wide-open chest.

“Hey,” Hank said soothingly, laying a heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder to pin him back as the deviant jerked upright. “Stay down, Con, you shouldn’t jostle too much. It’s, uh, it’s clipped into your, erm, your heart.”

“Thirium pump,” Sixty corrected, the first words he’d spoken since he’d called Hank out of the bathroom.

“Whatever.”

Connor swallowed thickly, clearing out the static. He was grateful when his voice sounded, still weak, but clearer. “What happened?”

Brother and father paused, sharing a slow look. The kind of look they often shared with one another when a victim asked for information the police weren’t certain they could emotionally handle yet.

Sixty scowled towards the ground as Hank’s eyes narrowed, softening as he turned back towards the son in bed. “Tell me what you remember first, Con, then we’ll see about filling in the gaps.”

A cop-out of an answer, but fatigue and niggling anxiety that his _chest_ was open and his _heart_ clipped into a machine kept him from arguing.

“Connor?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor said slowly. “I, me and Sixty, we were at that… We were called to that… thing earlier.”

“Ya gotta do better than that,” Hank goaded.

“The jewelers,” Sixty muttered.

Hank snapped his fingers, “Ey, don’t feed him info, let ‘im-”

“No, wait,” Connor resisted the urge to prop himself up. “I think I remember that. We were called to that theft. The deviant, he stole some… I don’t remember right, diamonds or some crap like that. We had to split up. I found the guy, cornered him…”

“And?” Sixty glanced up.

He sank further into the pillow. “That’s it. There might have been a girl with him, but I don’t remember where she came in. One second he’s cornered, the next, you’re poking me in the ribs.”

“ _Richard_.”

“I didn’t poke him! More like a tickle. I woke him up, didn’t I?” Sixty crossed his arms defensively. Before the two could dissolve into what Connor felt to be one of several dozen arguments since his memories cut to black, the door to his room swung open.

“Connor,” Nines rushed in, dropping a container of coffees on the bedside table. “You’re up.”

“Regretfully,” Connor tried to smirk. He failed. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell happened now?”

Sixty hesitated a moment, refusing to look up from where he studied his feet. “There was a second android. They were supposed to meet up at the abandoned warehouse you chased him to, but she was late in letting him in cuz she was too busy trying to shake me.”

“There were two thieves, then…”

“Yeah,” Sixty nodded. “Makes sense why we got two different leads now.”

“But what happened to me?”

A beat, another swallow to suppress his barely disguised hesitation. “She had some kind of device, like a homemade taser. Had it hit you in the arm, the leg, hell, if she’d hit you in the fucking crotch it probably would have knocked you out, fried your balls, but we woulda laughed it off. But, the bitch hit you right in the pump and fried your fucking heart out.”

Nines reached up from where he perched on Connor’s bed, placing a hand on his other brother’s arm to calm him. He didn’t speak, not that Nines ever spoke much. He didn’t need to.

Sixty took a breath. “If I had stopped her before she’d given me the slip-”

“No,” Hank cut in. “Shit happens. This isn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Uhh,” Connor voiced, “I think I can blame the one with the taser pretty easily.”

Sixty snorted. It sounded wet. He scrubbed at his face, looking for a moment like he might finish his story. Instead he grabbed one of the coffees Nines had brought and took his seat back.

The oldest one in the room shifted, drawing Connor’s attention towards his adoptive father. “Kid, ya know how I feel about sugar coatin’.”

“It’s shit,” Connor said quietly.

“It’s shit,” Hank bobbed in agreement. “So, what happened isn’t exctly… great. Cuz you were smart enough to send Richard your location before you got hurt, he was able to find you pretty quick. Found you in the middle of some kinda seizure fit.”

“The robbers?” Connor asked.

Rolling his eyes, hank scoffed. “Course, chest spread wide open like a cadaver’s, and he’s worried about the freaking arrests. _Thankfully,_ one of you know how to prioritize and even though the deviants were trying to help ya - they’d just meant to incapacitate, not kill ya - they took off once they caught sight of Rich. He stayed with ya until, well, now. I think Gavin caught the one who tased ya since he was nearby for backup.”

Finally, Connor succeeded in smirking. A shit eating, tired lopsided smile directed towards his pseudo-twin. “You stayed with me?”

“Shut up.”

“Back to what’s important,” Hank said, “you’re pretty beat up, kid. They don’t think the seizures will become chronic or anything, but the tech said they’ll be a risk for at least a couple more months. Cuz of your electric brains or some shit. Ya also lost your temp thingy.”

“Regulator,” Nines’ hand found Connor’s elbow. “Just your temperature regulator. You’ll get hot and cold like a human and won’t be able to monitor it like an android. Nothing essential.”

Connor nodded in understanding. Thermal regulators, while useful, were all in all rather nonessential. Like a human appendix. They were quite fragile and would bust at even the gentlest of injuries. That was, if they didn’t burn themselves out on their own. They were easy to replace, but with how likely it was to break it again and the only plus being they could control how hard they shivered in a cold wind, it didn’t exactly justify the cost and time and recovery.

The touch on his arm was soothing, but the fact that Nines had chimed in made Connor more nervous than before he had seen his open chest plates. Nines didn’t usually talk unless he felt it was absolutely necessary.

“What is it,” Connor shook off the comforting touch and ignored the sad, icy eyes. “What are you all avoiding? I can take it, honest.”

“I know you can, kiddo. You’re tough, we all get it,” Hank said, no malice in his tone. “Con, that crappy homemade taser had just enough juice and hit exactly the right place to burn out your heart. Pump,” he self corrected. “It’s been a long day, kid, and a shit ton of stuff’s happened while you were out. They tried supporting your own system long enough for your self-healing to kick in, but you went into arrest too fast and they had to yank it. Turns out no amount of self-healing coulda fixed burnt heart plastic.”

“They… took out my pump?” Connor’s hand ghosted over the missing plating where his chest should be, brushing over the curling wires. Nines quietly took his hand into his own, much larger and warmer hands and squeezed.

Hank nodded. “You sure don’t do anything by halves, do ya kid? Like ya know, they couldn’t leave you without a heart in your chest or you wouldn’t be awake right now. Or… alive.”

“But, Cyberlife doesn’t have many specialized prototype parts lying around, let alone a thirium pump,” Connor stated, Nines’ hand tightening around his. “And they destroyed all the blueprints to build new ones. That’s if there had even been time to build a new-”

“I know, I know,” Hank shushed him. “They didn’t have any RK parts, or anything fully compatible, but they’ve jury rigged your chest with a PL200 pump.”

“600,” Sixty mumbled over his drink. “It’s been months, Hank, how are you still so bad at this?”

Connor missed whatever tired comeback Hank retorted with. Whatever Sixty snapped back with. The details Hank shared about how the surgery had gone, how he had been strung up from the inside with wires that were not fully accepted by his systems, but accepted enough for him to wake up hours after his second android heart attack.

A PL600 thirium pump. The same kind of thirium pump that Daniel, his first mission, had had seconds before smashing it against the solid ground. The replacement heart of a household android pushed thirium through his body. It would circulate, but it wasn’t made for him. It wouldn’t support his model. He needed power, speed, something that could keep up when he ran across rooftops and dodged cars in traffic.

“It’s not enough,” Connor blurted, cutting Hank off mid-word. “It’s not strong enough.”

“Kid-”

“RK800’s are specialized models, with specialized parts, everything built a certain way for a _reason_ ,” Connor pleaded, but he didn’t know with whom and for what. “It’s not going to be strong enough for-for- for _anything_ that I need to do! It’ll burn out in a week with my regular lifestyle, and work, and-”

Hank’s hand joined Nines’ on Connor’s body, gently pressing against his knee and squeezing in light, sporadic pulses. “Yeah, Con, we know.”

“Are they- is someone going to fix this?” he asked. “This is a temporary solution, right? A placeholder until something stronger can be-”

“There is nothing stronger, Connor.”

“There are other police models,” Connor cut him off, frantic. Sixty was looking at him now, and the look in his eyes mirrored Nines’ and Hank’s. Connor hated it. “And military models. They’re built tough, too, like me.”

The hand on his knee was an anchor in a storm that had blown out of nowhere and refused to leave. “You know as good as me that those other police bots don’t have half the features you and Richard were built with. And military models are too big. It wouldn’t fit.”

“Couldn’t they-”

“No, Con, this is the best they could come up with,” Hank said. “And it saved your life. That’s good enough for me.”

“It’s not,” tears burned in his vision. His entire body burned, the machine regulating his breathing beeped in warning as intake was being supplied faster than it could manage. “It’s not good enough. I can’t, I need to be able to work. I’m built this way for a reason. If I can’t fulfil my purpose there’s no point.”

“Con-”

“There wasn’t any point in stuffing this fucking thing in me if it wasn’t going to work,” Connor choked. “You shouldn’t have let them-”

“ _Connor._ ” It was Nines. Harsh, gentle, quiet, demanding Nines. “Everyone did they best they could. It’s a lot now, but you will understand better when you have had some time to adjust.”

He couldn’t push off his brother - even distraught he could never be that cruel to the tallest and the youngest of them - but he could glare. “Maybe I don’t want to adjust.”

A voice, similar to his own in nearly every way measurable, choked. “Connor,” Sixty couldn’t lift his head from where he hunched in the chair. “If I could, Connor, we’re the same model. We have the same pump. If they’d let me-”

“No,” Hank said quickly. “We’re not talking like that, Richard. Not again.”

Air shot harshly through Connor’s nose, and he pinched his eyes tight as a large hand twisted into the messy curls matting his head. “I don’t want yours, Richie. I want mine. I need mine back.”

The room fell silent. Except for Connor’s harsh, unmeasured breaths. The beep, click, whirr of the machine doing its best. The clicks and hums of random machinery trying to help Connor’s body adjust to the heart not made for his body. The occasional shuffle or sniffle from the other three in the room.

“Do you,” Hank started slowly, “want some time to yourself?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Connor murmured. He only had two hands but three family members, but with Hank still patting his leg at odd intervals and Nines absolutely refusing to leave his side - and his hair - alone, that left only one person who perhaps needed comfort as much as he did.

He couldn’t stretch far, but he could reach out enough. Sixty’s fingers brushed against his own, still warm from where they had clutched a cup of coffee like a lifeline.

\-----

The first day home had been, in short, disastrous. From Connor’s point of view, nothing had gone well. From the moment Hank had helped him into the house, he fell onto the couch and there he lay, unmoving, in too much pain to sleep or watch television but not enough to bother his father or siblings over. And when Sumo, distant and nervous from the smell of hospital and injury on his favorite android, had summoned up the courage to face his fears and jump onto the sofa and offer two-hundred seven pounds of comfort, Connor was a strong enough man to admit that he’d sobbed for no less than fifteen minutes.

When it came time for bed, it had taken Hank several minutes and quiet words to goad the android into trading the couch for the bedroom. Hank gently pat his arm, wordlessly encouraging him to prop himself up on the side of the couch and into a sitting position.

“I really don’t mind,” Connor protested. Too sore to think straight, too tired to argue. “I’ll stay on the couch.”

“C’mon, son,” Hank encouraged, giving the android time to find his own balance. “If I’d replaced the old thing months ago when I shoulda there wouldn’t be a problem, but you’re gonna wake up in more hurt if ya try to tough it out here.”

Groaning quietly, Connor pressed himself up to a weak standing position. He wasn’t sure what he was more grateful for, Hank’s literal support saving him a nasty fall or the distance Nines and Sixty were pretending to give him by tidying up the dinner mess. Sixty _never_ did the dishes.

“Take it slow, no rush,” Hank said. “Nines said you can take his bed for a few days, until you’re more healed up.”

The three of them shared a room. Nines, the lucky baby of the family, had scored his own bed in the crowded room. Good, it was easier to fall into.

“Where’s he gonna sleep?” Connor struggled to keep the sleepy slur out of his tone.

“He’s gonna take your half of the bunk,” Hank pushed open the bedroom door. One twin, a bunk, and the double closet doors had been taken down to give easier access to three dressers and the hangers above. Oddly enough, despite the extreme differences in the trio’s personalities, the room was rather cohesive and decorated sparcely to keep from annoying any and all of them. It was probably the first and last compromise Hank would witness from his boys.

“Alright, easy, easy,” Hank muttered randomly as Connor loosened his death grip from his shoulder and slipped to the comfort of the mattress. “Yep, get those blankets… You want your weighted one, or do you think - nope, I’ll get it. Right here.”

He snagged the heavy blanket from the bottom bunk across the room. Placing it at the foot of the bed Connor was borrowing, he waited before pulling it up.

“Here,” Hank snagged a small, orange bottle from the bedside table. “Gotta take two of these and… shit, did I leave the other one in the kitchen?”

“It’s fine,” Connor waved him off.

“Yeah, no it ain’t,” Hank pushed a glass of water into the deviant’s hands. “Two of those at a time for the pain ‘til we finish that bottle, then two of those other ones every day.”

“I know,” Connor begrudgingly swallowed the two pain pills in his hand with a small sip. “I was there when the doctor explained, too.”

“I’m reminding myself, smartass,” Hank said before darting from the room. He returned within the same minute, a curious and sorrowful looking Sumo stopping at the door and peering within. The older man shook the bottle, squinting at the tiny lettering. “The hell’re these supposed to be again? Some kinda android anti-rejection meds?”

Connor shrugged, holding out his hand. If he was going to be forced to take them either way, he’d rather get it over with and go to sleep. He cast a sad smile towards the even sadder St. Bernard in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to yell at him, earlier.”

“Eh,” Hank waved him off, setting down the glass and pulling up the weighted blanket. “He’s gotta learn he’s a giant dumbass who weighs a ton. He’ll forget the whole deal by tomorrow.”

Sinking back in the bed, Connor could almost feel the pain medication seeping into his system. His head was feeling heavier by the second, and the even pressure of his weighted blanket wrapped him in a gentle firmness that soothed both his body and his pent-up soul after a less than happy coming home.

He blinked himself from a half-sleep as something tapped his leg.

“Ey, you let someone know if you start feeling funny, okay?” Hank said. “You haven’t taken that one pill before and I don’t want you to-”

“I’ll be fine, dad,” Connor said. “Just gonna… gonna sleep now.”

And he did. Six full, amazing hours of sleep. He missed it when his brothers snuck into the room and went to bed themselves, even as Sixty accidentally hit that one really squeaky part of the bunk as he hauled himself up and over the rail. He didn’t notice the first, second, or third checks Hank cracked open the door for. Six glorious hour of sleep, from when he turned in early, right until the moment a horrible twisting inside his body forced him awake and gingerly upright.

Someone less self-sacrificing might have asked one of the two siblings, sleeping at their lightest settings mere two feet across the room, for help. Instead, he managed to get up and out of bed and feel his way towards the door, left open a crack “in case of emergency.” He stumbled from the room, closing another door across the hall behind himself.

Of course, the moment the light from the hallway spilled into the room, the two within snapped awake. Before either of them could jump into action, the bedroom door next door clicked open. Then the bathroom door opened and shut. And opened and shut again. Then more light streamed into the shared bedroom.

“Is he alright?” Nines asked from where he propped himself up in the lower bunk.

Hank snagged the pillow from the borrowed twin, teetered a moment in thought, then grabbed the thin throw blanket from the foot of the bed.

“I think the meds are messing with ‘im,” Hank said in a sleep-thick voice. As two LED’s spun in worried yellow, Hank paused. “He ain’t even that bad. Probably be back in bed in an hour or two. ‘Til then, we’re bunkin’ down in the bathroom.”

“Call if you need anything,” Nines said. He received a brisk nod and the bedroom door shutting all the way closed.

\---

The following days were a blur. A painful, dizzying, weak, churning blur. Connor got used to used to his meds, at the sacrifice of forgoing normal meals for lying unmoving for hours, trying to control his breath, or in a dreamless sleep. He couldn’t stand from the borrowed bed, or else the room would spin and his heart would pound and his heart was struggling to stay put enough on its own so it was better to lie there. Breathing, staring at the ceiling or the insides of his eyelids.

For once, no one pushed him. Hank didn’t force him to eat. Sixty didn’t tease him, too disturbed when he choked on his own breaths late at night when he tried to shift from one side of his lower back to the other. Nines, in his own quiet way, did press certain issues. It bothered the baker to see anyone go so long without a meal, and would make a point to leave behind Connor’s favorite muffins at his bedside. But besides making sure he didn’t get a temperature, and he got his medications on time, and Sumo was kept out of the room, they left the deviant to himself.

His fifth morning in bed, still stiff and sore but for once not excruciatingly so, he didn’t miss the way Nines beamed when he came to bring him a glass of water and found the chocolate chip muffin nibbled on.

It wasn’t until an entire week had passed did Connor carefully push himself up, feeling off-centered and gross from days in bed, but the throbbing in his chest that radiated outward had dulled into a gentle throb. And he hadn’t even taken anything for pain yet that day.

Wrapping the lightest blanket on the bed around his shoulders, Connor shuffled his way into the parts of the house teeming with a little more energy. Sixty was darting about, getting ready for work. Nines as well, as he had been alternating between days at home and working with Hank since Connor had taken to bed and been unable to stand. Hank was the only one, besides Connor, still in his pj’s and nursing a cup of coffee.

“Eyyy,” Hank gestured over the lip of his mug, visibly wanting to make a big deal of things and also not wanting to embarrass the kid the moment he got some strength back.

“Morning,” Connor shuffled further into the kitchen, one hand wrapped around the blanket on his shoulders and the other pressed against his chest.

From around the corner, his so-called twin hurried about, freezing as his processor tallied the amount of people in the room. He snorted. “Looks like somebody decided to get up off their lazy ass.”

“There it is,” Connor smiled pleasantly. “Don’t worry, I’m happy to see you too.”

“Go get ready,” Hank growled, switching personalities as if by a switch as he faced the other RK800. “How you feelin’, kid?”

“Better,” Connor kept a hand over that oddly hollow spot in his chest. “Doesn’t hurt as bad anymore.”

Nodding over a sip of coffee, Hank sipped to hide a glowing smile. “You still gotta finish that bottle of pain meds, the tech said.”

“I know, I know,” Connor said as his eyes landed on the silver and blue bread box - Nines’ pride and joy. He shuffled forward. “Kinda hungry , and I want something other than your half-burnt toast.”

“Crispy is the best,” Hank argued.

It felt good, being able to smile again and mean it. Not use it to let others feel like he was okay when he clearly wasn’t, or smiling to avoid grimacing as every beat of his heart-pump felt like poking a salty finger in a fresh wound.

“Uh-”

Connor froze at the quiet hum, his fingers barely brushing the lip of the bread box. “Nines?”

“There’s, um, the box,” Nines paused, collecting his thoughts before settling on, “I’ll bring you a whole tray of muffins tonight.”

Looks like he was sharing a bowl of cereal with Nines this morning. At least, until the younger one decided to get ready for his own day of work at the bakery. At the end of an extremely long week, finally, one day was beginning to look up. Hank spent most of the day in the garage and backyard, doing whatever it was that upper-middle aged men did when they assigned themselves chores to do in the garage and backyard. For Connor, it didn’t involve much more than chilling on the couch watching tv with Sumo gently draped across his lap. It was a good day for dog and android.

At least, until Connor stood up sometime between lunch and when his siblings would be coming home from work and found himself being shaken awake by a frantic Hank.

“’M up, 'm up,” Connor waved away the rough, calloused hands from his shoulder. Huffing through his cheeks, he blearly looked around. “Wha’-”

“Yeah, _what_. What the hell were you doing?” Hank barked, even as he helped ease Connor into a sitting position. He has halfway between the living room and the kitchen, it seemed.

Connor shook his head, “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Bullshit you weren’t doing anything,” Hank’s steely blue eyes were downright intimidating, and he knew especially how to pin every one of his sons under his glare like a bright light on a criminal. “If you weren’t doing anything I wouldn’t have found your stupid ass passed out in the living room.”

“I swear, I wasn’t doing anything-”

“Kid,” Hank took a steadying breath. “I don’t give these out often, but if you tell me with 100% honesty what the _hell_ you were doing, I promise I won’t yell. A get out of jail free card.”

Connor hung his head. Hank almost never doled out the get out of jail free cards, and here he was, wasting one he didn’t even need. “I didn’t-”

“ _Connor._ ”

“You’re gonna laugh at me…”

Hank quirked an eyebrow. “’Hell are you talking about?”

“I was…” Connor wiped a hand over his mouth to muffle the words. “I was going to the kitchen to… get a snack.”

Per his honesty, Hank did not yell. And per his resolve, he did not laugh. But he did choke on his breath a moment. “Did you get too hungry or something, do androids get low blood sugar?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t get up too fast, or pull something, or do anything stupid! I just… got up.” Connor scrubbed harder at his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. This stupid pump is so weak I can’t even walk to the kitchen.”

“It’ll even out, kiddo, things’ll be wonky for awhile, but it’ll work out. Come on, let’s get off the floor, hm?”

Connor took the hand up, but he didn’t like it. And if that had been the only incident, perhaps he would have gotten over it. But it wasn’t. As the weeks passed, the pain ultimately faded, but symptoms that could only be blamed on the weakness of Connor’s new heart arose time and time again. Moments of vertigo that could last up to an hour. The random times he would pass out doing nothing abnormal at all. Sometimes, his pump would start beating so hard he felt it might burst out of his chest.

The worst of these side-effects had been one self-inflicted episode, in which Hank had found him in the basement, curled against the wall, shaking and dripping with condensation after a foolish attempt to see what his physical limitations were. By name, he could do perhaps a dozen push ups, two dozen sits ups, and a handful of jumping jacks before the collapse and noise that had drawn Hank downstairs. Summarized, pee-wee athletes were more fit than he was.

And this was worrying, both to Connor and to the other members of his family, but clearly for different reasons. The main reason, however, was that Hank only had so much emergency family leave and it was rapidly coming to an end. It also was not fair to anyone to have to babysit Connor in case something went wrong, or he collapsed and injured himself. More importantly, it was unfair to Connor to lose not only his job at the DPD but also every kind of freedom he had quite literally fought for. A good solution, or even a poor solution, was nowhere to be found. But, an answer had to be made and had to be made soon before Hank ran out of leave and Connor sunk into an unbreakable depression.

The answer was as much a surprise as from whom the idea came from.

Sixty burst into the living room one sunny afternoon, having gone on a morning walk that was quite unlike himself. The slam of the door bouncing off the wall drew the attention of the three inside the house, and the rope in Sixty’s hand drew their eyes towards the other end in which it was tied to.

“Connor,” Sixty pointed with his free hand towards the android moping on the sofa. “This is Dotty. She’s your medical alert dog.”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long-ass chapter! I wanted to introduce Dotty ASAP but I didn't want to skip over the hospital and go straight to the dog. Hopefully it isn't too glossed over. I feel like the whole time leading up to Connor meeting Dotty could be a whole story in itself.  
> Basically this story is going to be a series of one-shots about Connor and Dotty's adventures in Detroit as they shadow and try out all kinds of new jobs since Connor won't be able to work for the DPD anymore. I already have a loooooong list of jobs/careers for Connor to try out, but suggestions are always welcome! It just may take awhile before they get added as a chapter. :) 
> 
> Thank you! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. It's Official! You're Unemployed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: None that I can think of? Teasing, a small argument at most.

“Jesus Christ, Richard.”

Finally, someone broke the silence that had stretched on since Sixty had burst into the living room with a dog in hand. It wasn’t Nines, his LED churning a curious yellow. Nor had it been Connor, with his own LED pulsating too many colors too quickly to see a single one.

It was Hank. Arm crossed, chest puffed, eyes narrowed at that-that… frankly adorable dog sitting obediently at Sixty’s heel.

“What?” Sixty challenged. “We’ve been trying to figure something out about Connor being a burden on everyone-”

“I-” Connor started, LED finally settling on a color. Red.

“-and look,” Sixty jiggled the rope in his hand. “Problem solved. We can all get back to normal. Even Connor.”

Taking a slow breath, Hank visibly counted down from a high number, immediately forgot what number he was on, and skipped to the part where he tried not to get angry. “Look, Richard, I get it son. We’re all worried, and _far_ be it from me to yell at you for actually trying to be nice, but we’re just not situated to handle more than we’ve got right now.”

“Let me explain.”

“Kid, this house is burstin’ at the seams as it is,” Hank said firmly. “It’s bad enough I gotta cram all three of you in one room. We’ve already got a dog, kid, and he’s a handful.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sixty took two deliberate steps into the house and slammed the door shut, the dog settling again at his heel. “Did you not hear the part where I said it’s a medical dog? It’s trained and shit, pretty much takes care of itself.”

“That’s not how it works, kid,” Hank shook his head. “And another thing, Sumo ain’t trained. Mixin’ a trained dog with an untrained terror like that mutt currently diggin’ holes out back is how you end up with two dogs that won’t listen. And- Jesus Christ, Richard, how the hell’d you get your hands on one? Mutts like that are expensive!”

“I didn’t steal her,” Sixty rolled his eyes. “If you’d allow me to explain I would have told you that Dotty is a trained _android_ dog.”

Clearly, Hank was loathe to concede, but it appeared he didn’t know enough on the topic of android K-nine units to comment. He sniffed lightly, “You got five minutes.”

“For what? There’s nothing to explain. Humanoid androids weren’t the only ones abandoned by their owners. All of the android pet lines shared their own strain of deviancy and got dumped at the shelters. Jericho’s full of them,” Sixty stated as if everyone knew that the lower left wing of the New Jericho facility was crawling with android dogs, cats, mice, snakes, hamsters, and anything else some cyber tech had thought would look cute as a robot. “You front them a hundred buck adoption fee, download a few dozen training protocols, and ya got yourself a discount med dog.”

The beard on Hank’s face scritched like sandpaper as he habitually itched under his ear. “So ya got her cheap. What’s she gonna cost long term? Food, vet bills, the things that add up fast.”

“Unless you’re feeling really generous,” Sixty snorted, “a bowl of kibble once a week. And she’s an android Hank, they go to the tech. And only if something goes wrong. Which isn’t often.”

“Well look at you with all the answers,” Hank grumbled. “I’m still not convinced. There’s a lot more to getting a dog than just paying for it and shoving kibble in its mouth. You’re adopting a whole ass personality - and Sumo’s got enough of an attitude all his own.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so against this,” Nines started from his position halfway in the kitchen. “No matter what angle you can think of against it, it is the most convenient, cost-effective, and gentlest solution to every problem we may face.”

Connor, stunned silent on the couch, always appreciated how Nines could always speak of the most touchy subjects both bluntly yet kindly. His head pivoted as if on a tripod, bouncing from brother to father to other brother and back again.

Nines turned his attention from Hank, pointedly pinning Sixty under his piercing blue gaze. “I’m assuming you downloaded all the appropriate software and programs?”

“She already had a few of them. Emotional and psychological support,” Sixty clarified. “I just added the more specific ones. The tech I had double check the applications said she could read a heart-rate up to three rooms away, and she can send location details to emergency channels if something happened.”

Satisfied, Nines gave a small nod and turned back to Hank. Quirking an eyebrow, the slow fold of his arms over his chest spoke louder than any words he could speak.

Hank looked from Nines. To Sixty. To Connor, face half obscured by the back of the sofa, staring at him as if he were waiting for a judge to decide if he got the death sentence of a slap on the wrist.

“I’m still not sure about this.”

Nines huffed. “You’re upset Sixty went behind your back, not that he got a dog. It’s a good idea.”

“Well, Connor?” Hank asked with a heavy sigh. “You’ve been awfully silent.”

“I was waiting for you to make a decision,” came the quiet answer.

“I know when I’m beat,” Hank hung his head. “It’s up to you kid. I know, it’s a stupid question to ask _you_ , but do you wanna keep the dog?”

The LED on the side of the oldest android brother’s head flipped through the entire spectrum before settling on a hybrid of yellow and blue that blended green where the two colors met. Whatever emotions he had felt weeks ago, when he had first woken up in that hospital bed and been told that nothing would be the same again, were flowing through him but as the exact opposite emotions. They still made him feel choked up and stuffy.

“Seriously?”

“Go meet your dog, Connor,” Hank gestured weakly.

The android launched himself off the couch faster than Hank had seen him move in weeks. He threw himself at his twin brother, squeezing Sixty tight before the android could shove him off, and landed on his knees next to him. Cautious, he held out a hand to the extremely obedient, quiet dog that had neatly held her position without so much as a huff of complaint.

“What’s her name again?”

“Ra9, you’re not crying, are you?” Sixty snickered. “The person at Jericho said it was something real snooty like _Perdita_ , but she answers to Dotty, too.”

Perdita. Deviants were seldom subtle, as they hadn’t learned enough emotionally to embrace the fine art of subtlety. Perdita was an exceptionally fitting name, seeing as the android K-nine unit had been designed to simulate a small, slender dalmatian. Her left ear was solid black, and the right one had exactly four freckles. The rest of her body was covered in soft, synthetic fur blotched randomly with large spots.

“Dotty,” Connor tried out quietly. Allowing a small wriggle to travel up her body from her thwipping tail, the dalmatian excitedly panted but made no move to get pats from the android who couldn’t not pet every dog he met. “Does she not like to be touched?”

“She’s a working dog, Con,” Hank clarified as he neared, giving Dotty a good once-over. “I’m betting it’s stronger in an android dog, but working dogs are supposed to be calm and focused.”

Gently, Connor reached out a little further and brushed the dog’s solid colored ear. The wriggle in her body intensified, but she refused to leave her seat at Sixty’s side. Her head darted up, jerking away from Connor’s hand, as the middle brother snapped his fingers.

“Here,” he motioned towards Connor. “Draw back the skin from your hand and let her scan you. That way she’ll know you’re her owner, and how to keep an eye on you.”

Doing as instructed, Connor remained crouched on the floor as he presented his pearly white fingers and palm. Immediately, Dotty finally moved beyond her wriggling seat and beelined the few inches towards the exposed fingers. The dark material of her nose faded to a pinkish white as she interfaced with Connor.

“Wow,” Connor blinked. “That’s pretty thorough.”

“What’s she doing?” Hank asked.

“Heart rate, thirium pressure, temperature, full name, make, and model numbers. A couple cell phone numbers to you guys, and some other baseline stuff you’d see on a tech scan. Not super in-depth, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Connor paused. “She’s prompting for a normal reading for an RK800. I don’t think I can-”

Sixty quickly presented his own hand, letting the dog nuzzle his hand to scan his own resting heart rate and normal readings. “There. Done.”

It was gentle, a subtle shifting from one haunch to the other, but as Dotty’s nose resumed its velvety blackness, Connor could swear that she switched over to his side. No longer did she sit by Sixty, but by him. Dotty was _his_ dog. His helper and companion. And maybe, if all went well, his canine friend.

“Dotty,” Connor called, offering his re-fleshed hand. “Here, girl.”

Perking up, Dotty’s ears raised unevenly at the sound of her name. An impossibly pink and warm tongue darted over his fingers, warm nose blowing air over the wetness. Of any kind of help Connor could have hoped to get, this was the absolute greatest he could possibly imagine.

\---

It would take some convincing, begging, pleading, and about five seconds of shouting, but Hank was beyond done.

“You’re not staying here for ten more minutes,” Hank snarled.

“What?” Conner rotated just enough on the couch to see the irritated father figure standing directly behind. “You kicking me out?”

“Yes,” Hank said firmly. “For a few hours, minimum. You haven’t been out of this house since… In weeks, Con.”

Connor lay a hand on the little dog in his lap. Or, maybe she was a normal size for a dog. The massive beast filling up the entire space between the couch and the coffee table might have ruined him on what the average dog looked like. “That’s not true. I went out yesterday.”

“I don’t exactly count cleaning off your desk as an outing.”

He hid a flinch. Honestly, it should have been done weeks ago, but apparently debilitating pain and being unable to walk in a straight line were good excuses as to why he might need some time before heading into the office and making his severance official. It had been a difficult and humbling talk with Captain Fowler, as the man thanked him for the few months of service he had given the DPD and the city of Detroit. But, what was an RK800 to the police department if he couldn’t chase down criminals, hold thrashing bad guys down as he slapped them in cuffs, or leap from rooftop to rooftop?

Of course, the Captain had not worded it anywhere close to those harsh words, but Connor could read between the lines. Honestly, had Dotty not pressed herself against his leg when his stress levels began to spike, Connor wasn’t certain he could have made it through his severance, stuffing a handful of personal items in a box, and promising to keep in touch with the friends he had made out of co-workers.

“Kid, you’re doing better, getting more strength back, don’t let yourself grow stagnant just cuz’ you’re in a rough patch right now,” Hank pat his shoulder. “Go out, get some fresh air. When’s the last time you visited any of your deviant friends?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I’ve texted them a few times.”

“Good, good,” Hank nodded. “Text ‘em again and tell them you’re coming over.”

“Ugh,” Connor groaned, patting Dotty again as she shifted to look at him. “Not today, Hank. Maybe sometime later this week… or next week. Or- don’t you dare- Hank, put your phone away!”

“Text ‘em or I will,” the older man threatened.

Connor’s light flashed. “Hank, I can’t-”

“Taxi’s on its way.”

“You didn’t!”

“I didn’t,” Hank confirmed. “But the cab’s coming either way. Take it to the damn park if ya want, but get out of the damn house.”

In short, that was how Connor found himself in the large, shared apartment within the New Jericho tower with the four androids he probably should have made more of an effort to visit recently, but held fast to his pretty good excuses.

Biting his bottom lip to keep from smirking, Connor gestured towards Dotty - his new second shadow. “You can go ahead, Simon.”

“Oh my God, I thought I was going to explode,” the blonde gasped as he unfolded himself from the couch arm he was perching on and darted towards the dog.

“You’re not supposed to pet a working dog,” North snarked from her lean against the wall. Clearly jealous, but with a modicum more self control.

“Wow, I didn’t know that, North, thank you for clearing that up,” Simon returned, his playful pets not slowing down in the least. “It’s a _dog_ , how are you not supposed to let her know that she’s a good girl - such a good girl, yeah. Yes, you are.”

“A-and, we’ve lost him,” Josh shook his head.

Markus smiled. “It’s good to see you, Con. You’re looking well.”

He nodded politely. “Feeling better. Enough so that Hank no longer feels bad about forcing me to socialize.”

“You are pretty shit at socializing.”

“Yes, thank you, North,” Connor said without looking towards the girl clearly smirking. “The absolute voice of experience, over there.”

“Hell yeah.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Josh said. “I was talking to Nines awhile ago. Not to sound insensitive, but it really is quite amazing what the techs were able to do for you.”

“I know,” Connor said, because it was the expected answer. “I…wait. When did you see Nines?”

Josh’s eyes widened a fraction, and he shifted guiltily in his chair. “I, um, ran into him awhile ago at this bakery I found. Had no idea he was working there.”

“Bullshit,” North snorted. “You’re a horrible liar. Everyone knows that Josh is a _slut_ for those orange-cranberry scones they make.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Blueberry Muffin Basic Bi-”

“Not to mention he doesn’t mind one tall, blue-eyed deviant who serves them up all warm and-”

“ _North.”_

“Guys, you’re upsetting Dotty,” Simon jutted in, seated next to the dog who looked anything but upset as the blonde android adjusted her baby blue vest a little more comfortably.

“They’re fine, it’s nothing I don’t hear at home,” Connor said. “Plus, now I’ve got a little blackmail on Nines.”

He wondered if Nines would flush the same shade of blue Josh was currently turning when he teased him about this later.

“Veering away from all of that,” Markus stated, “From what Nines said, it sounds like you and Simon have more in common now.”

“I’d never thought of it that way,” Connor glanced over.

“Yep,” Simon chirped, “Same pump, no thermal regulator. Oh, be sure to milk everything you can out of that no regulator deal. I got the absolute warmest sweaters when mine burnt out.”

Connor laughed lightly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Markus, looking the ever tired parent trying to hold a conversation with another adult while his multiple children were wreaking havoc, simply lay a quick hand over Connor’s in an attempt to bring some semblance of maturity back to the room. It was surprising - the warm touch - but not unwelcome, despite the brevity of the moment.

“How have you been doing?” he asked. “All of these changes can’t be easy.”

There were several routes Connor could take in replying. The conventional approach - glossing over the topic, bright smiles and cheery face and sunny skies - and the honest approach, in which one might start treading the fine line of oversharing. Connor chose the third, unlisted option, snug neatly between the two.

“I’ve been… alright,” he said. “As of yesterday I’m officially as unemployed as I was the day I deviated.”

Markus hummed in sympathy. “I understand, I hate sitting still, too. It helps to have tasks and work to accomplish everyday, if only to stay productive.”

“And sane,” Connor added.

“Any ideas where you’re heading next?” North prodded.

The deviant shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he had thought about the topic of future careers - nor even the thousandth time. Even here amongst friends, and not alone in bed staring up at the ceiling, he felt his stress tick up at the question. Barely a jump in numbers, but enough for Dotty to shake off Simon’s never ending pats and return to Connor’s side. She pressed her shoulder into his leg, a solid and comforting presence.

Patting her head, Connor shrugged. “I’m not sure. If you ask my brothers, I’m not exactly the most creative. All I can think of instead of the DPD is finding a security company, or night guarding, or hell, working as a bouncer at a nightclub.”

“I can see that,” North nodded. “Black t-shirt, black jeans, rave music playing in the back. With all your nightclub experience, you’d be a natural.”

“Because you have so much experience at raves,” Josh muttered quietly, loud enough only to be heard by everyone in the room. Connor wondered why they insisted on always being a part of every group when 99% of their part of the conversation was antagonizing the other. Kind of like home.

“Clearly, those are out of the question,” Markus said in that tone he used when he didn’t realize he was slipping into his leader voice. “They’d be much too stressful, and put unnecessary strain on your thirium pump.”

“Turn down the healthcare bot,” Simon chided as he reclaimed his perch on the sofa, Dotty having fully abandoned him.

“I can turn it off whenever I want.”

“You just don’t want to?” Connor tried.

Markus pointed knowingly. “See, he gets it.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, looking down towards the dalmatian. “I’m having a hard time shutting off my programming, too.”

Markus’ hand found his again, giving two gentle pats and a rub across the knuckles before folding again. “You’ll figure something out. If you’re interested, there’s always an open position here at Jericho. Maybe, and I know it’s not an active job but it does utilize your knowledge, but we have been looking to fill a Chief of Security position.”

Having once been a master of his own body, able to control every artificial muscle in his body as strongly as he kept a hold on his emotions, Connor could only hope he hid the cringe he felt at the suggestion.

“Or, not,” Markus said. Clearly, he had not hidden the cringe. “It’s alright, Connor, like I said, you’ll figure something out.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Connor said quickly, “It’s just, I’m uncertain if I want something similar or something completely out there, like Nines. Plus… I don’t know if I’m leadership material.”

“Sure you are,” Markus encouraged.

“I don’t like ordering people.”

“Oh.”

Typically silent, except for the moment he was irritating North, Josh chimed in. “You know, you’re not the first deviant to find themselves uncertain about what career they should take up. It’s intimidating, suddenly needing a job but only having one extremely specific set of skill but equally unsure if what you were built for is your calling.”

“I know,” Connor sighed, “I should probably start looking at applications tonight. Do they still put ads in the newspaper?” He asked as if newspapers still existed.

“Sure, there is that,” Josh continued, “But a group of androids have put together a shadow program of sorts. It allows androids who aren’t sure what they want to do to try all sorts of jobs without any kinds of restriction. If there’s an android in the field, there’s an opportunity to shadow.”

“And there are androids in every. Single. Field,” North added.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Simon said from his corner. “It would give you the freedom to experiment without limitations.”

Rubbing a silky dog ear was one of the best fidget toys, and Dotty had the perfect ears for concentration. “It does sound promising.”

“I’d forgotten about that program,” Markus agreed. “I’ll send you some literature on it tonight, if you want.”

“Sure,” Connor smiled. “Is there a limit to how many jobs I can look at? What’s the cut off?”

“There is no cut off.” For the third time that afternoon, Markus reached for Connor’s hand. “You can try as many jobs as you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, I’m not sure I wanna introduce any romances or just keep it to flirting because, I dunno, pre-relationship flirting is kinda cute. Also, no idea where the Josh-Nines crush came from it legit just happened as I was writing buuuuuut we’re gonna stick with it for now.
> 
> And FINALLY we get to the point where I wanted to start the whole time. xD Starting next chapter, Connor and Dotty try their first of many possible careers! 
> 
> Barely grammar/spell-checked so there are probably errors. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	4. Farmhand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Nothing I can think of! Please enjoy!

They had said there were no limitations to the jobs he could try. The possibilities were endless and, until he found something he liked, no list of potential careers was too short or too long.

What Connor’s friends had forgotten to mention, and the literature hadn’t specified was that before the “possibilities are limitless” slogan applied, every android had to take part in the same first job.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Markus promised. “It’s not so much mandatory as it is a… very strong suggestion. Some androids who have opted out had severe mistrust of humans, or were absolutely sure that they did _not_ want to participate.”

“I don’t have a problem with humans,” Connor said as he perused over the pamphlets Markus had littered over his desk. The office was warm, inviting, if not slightly intimidating with with its floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the cityscape and stretched all the way to Bell Island and beyond. “Well, most humans.”

It was Connor’s first day of work. Or, shadowing. Interning. There were several terms that could apply to the program, none of which fit well. A career test could last anywhere from a few hours to a week, depending on how much the deviant enjoyed the work. And, most importantly to Connor (and Hank, although he would never admit it), the program allowed him a small stipend. It wasn’t great pay, but it was enough for a deviant to get by on if they needed to, allowing them the freedom to try new things without worrying too much about the pile of bills stacking up in the kitchen. Because, as androids viewed it, work was work, and all work deserved compensation.

Dotty yawned from where she lay, half buried beneath the desk with her head resting on Connor’s feet. Most likely it was a programmed K-nine instinct to be close to their patient, and direct contact allowed them a better way to monitor, but Connor liked to imagine she did it because she liked him as much as he did her. Her tail wagged lazily, thumping against the inside of the desk.

“So…you’ll do it?” Markus asked.

Connor glanced over the pamphlet again. “It’s not exactly similar to anything I had in mind.”

The understatement of the century. When compared to the list Connor had made for himself, dozens of jobs he had thought up himself, things Nines had suggested thoughtfully, things Sixty had recommended as jokes but didn’t sound half bad, and a couple ideas Hank had tossed at him to get him to shut up about his damn list of jobs for five minutes, the potential career in his hand had nothing in common to the careers he had in mind. To be fair, the jobs in his list had nothing in common with each other.

“But,” Connor continued, Markus perking up, “the whole point of this is to try something completely out there. Who knows, maybe I’ll really like… whatever this entails.”

“Awesome,” Markus exclaimed, seeming more excited than the deviant without a job was. He cleared his throat as Dotty jerked upright, collar jingling. “That’s great, I’ll let her know you’re on your way. Cab should be here in a few minutes, and don’t worry about needing documents or anything, as this is more of a… test we have for androids anyway.”

“Test?” Connor asked, rising with Markus from his seat. Dotty stood, shaking her head and body to fix her twisted vest.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Markus waved him off as he began to head from the office, wordlessly offering to walk to the entrance with the ex-detective. “The reason we push for this one first is to gauge a deviants ability to adapt to situations they haven’t been programmed for, in addition to learning things like if they’re better working alone or with others. Plus,” Markus hit the button for the elevator. “Rose is quite good at finding an android’s interests.”

A sense of unease welled in Connor’s chest at the name. Completely illogical, to dislike something as simple as a name, but he was not exactly fond of the flower. “Is that who I’ll be working with?”

Markus nodded, absently patting Dotty’s head despite knowing better. “She’s great, Con, you don’t have to worry about anything. Just think of today like a… back to work orientation.”

The elevator binged, doors clicking open as they reached the bottom floor. Unlike most deviants, Connor felt he knew every hall and floor of the New Jericho tower - the converted Cyberlife tower he had been built and tested in.

“Cab should be right out front,” he said, stopping before the glass doors brightening the room with the cheery, warm sunlight filling the entryway. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll do great today.”

“I’m not nervous.”

_Mm-hmm_ , Markus said every way but verbally. “Let me know how it goes,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find your job on the first try.”

Clipping a leash to the back of Dotty’s vest, he vehemently shook his head. “I highly doubt it.”

“I dunno,” Markus shrugged, “There’s just something about _Connor the farmer_ that has a nice ring to it.”

\---

He wasn’t nervous. It was only a day of working in ways his body and mind had technically never been built for. Utilizing skills he wasn’t programmed for, and creating task lists of tasks he’d never heard of before in his life. He wasn’t nervous, not truly. Connor enjoyed a challenge, and thanks to the dog panting patiently by his side, he had back his independence.

The nerves he currently felt had nothing to do with farm work, but instead the fact that Connor had never seen a farm before. Or acreage. More than ten trees in a row, or a horizon unmarred by buildings and ferries and skyscrapers and junkyards. The moment the suburbs rolled away into miles of cornfields sprinkled with the occasional house, he realized he had no point of reference to relate to, and had no idea what he was getting into.

A smile forced itself on his face as a cold, wet nose nuzzled his neck. He reached up and scratched under her collar. “I bet you’ve never been out of the city either, huh, girl?”

Dotty huffed, the warm air making his neck slick as she booped him with her nose again. Connor chuckled, feeling the stress ease. Until a timer went off from an alarm in his head, startling the deviant. Dotty booped him again.

“Oh,” Connor grumbled. Clicking his tongue the way Sixty had told him to, Dotty turned to the left and let him rummage through the pack on the side of her vest and retrieve an orange bottle of pills. Having her turn again, he popped out a bottle of water. “How is it that you’ve got a better alert system than me?”

Dotty sat, panting happily. Connor pat her head, only slightly disturbed at how the dog stared at him until he had taken a pill and returned the items to her bag.

“Good girl,” he said. Looking out the window, the cab had begun a slow crawl down a long driveway. In the distance, a quaint two story home stood invitingly before a large flowerbed. Deceptively large, for behind it were absolutely giant fields of crops beginning their early summer germination. And near those, humongous greenhouses and patches for viney fruits and vegetables.

The cab rolled to a stop, binging annoyingly for its passengers to get the hell out. No sooner had Connor’s booted feet hit the soil much softer than anything in the city, the cab sped off back towards the city. Nearby, the creak and slam of a screen door alerted to the quickly approaching “boss.”

“You ready for this, Dotty?” Connor asked. The dalmatian cocked her head. He nodded. “I feel the same way.”

“Connor?” a feminine voice called out as a short human all but radiating a motherly aura closed the distance between them. “Markus told me I’d be expecting you around this time. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You must be Rose,” Connor couldn’t help but return the smile, and the handshake he knew the woman must have been using to hide her urge to hug everything that looked as eager and uncertain as he was. “You have a… interesting home.”

“Never been to the country before, huh?” Rose chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first one I’ve had to coach how to drive a tractor.”

_Tractor_ , Connor repeated to himself. What had Markus gotten him into? “Is that what I’ll be doing today?”

“I’ll get you doing any number of things today, don’t worry,” Rose laughed. “The work never ends, I promise you that. And, oh, this must be Dotty!”

Connor nodded. “She goes everywhere I go. I hope that’s not a problem…”

“Course not, Dotty’s absolutely welcome anywhere you need,” Rose promised. “You can even let her loose and run around if you need. Had a couple of dogs myself here, and they just loved getting to roll around in the dirty and burn up all that extra energy.”

Perhaps if he had brought Sumo along, but Connor wasn’t certain he could convince Dotty to move further than ten feet away. “We’ll see if she’s up to that.”

Rose clasped her hands, rubbing them in thought. “Alright, then, introductions over. Normally it’s a tad longer as we might have a group come through, but lately we’ve been running low on the amount of people who want to try out the life of a farmhand. Let’s see what we can get you started with.”

“Anything,” a tenseness he hadn’t felt in his shoulders suddenly loosened at the prospect of working. Weeks of unemployment, wondering if he could even work again, and here he was, maybe about to climb up a tractor. Or plant some seeds. Or ride a horse. Were there horses here?

Rose smiled. “Why don’t we see if there’s something to be done in the greenhouses? They’re one of my favorite places.”

And for good reason. The overpowering smell of hot plants momentarily frazzled his senses, having never before processed anything so clean and organic. The dog promptly sneezed. Once his skin had a moment to adjust to the humidity, and his nose the scent of plants, his optics kicked into overdrive. Connor let them, wanting to capture every corner of the long greenhouses.

Row after row after row of plants filled hydroponics boxes, some long and flat at hip level and others suspended from shelves higher up. Peppers and tomatoes and strawberries and carrots and string beans filled every corner with color - dominantly green. Peas grew up a trellis, twisting their vines around and around and allowing the pods to hang heavily, suspended above the floor.

“Pretty cool, if I say so myself,” Rose smiled, catching sight of the wide-eyed deviant who had stopped to observe a flowering bell pepper plant. “Not many know this, but since the revolution my farm has been supplying the Jericho kitchen’s with over 80% of their produce. I even had to expand a few times, but it was all worth it”

That was news to Connor. “Really? You’d think more androids would volunteer here, then.” Besides the two of them - three with Dotty - the farm felt large and empty. “Has no one stayed on permanently?”

“None yet,” Rose said as she led them towards the end of the greenhouse and towards a shelving until. “But I don’t blame anyone for not liking farm work. It’s hard work, rather unappreciated, far out of the city and away from Jericho. It’s not the most convenient lifestyle.”

“Still,” Connor murmured. His curiosity peaked as Rose handed him an electronic clipboard with attached stylus, as well as a long metal probe that reminded him of a meat thermometer. “What are these?”

“Well, I have a whole flat of strawberry starters over on that flat, and I need to know why they’re not doing so well as the flat next to it. I’ve a feeling it’s the soil, so I need you to check every individual pod and record the soil contents on the tablet,” Rose explained. “I’ll get started on the watering and trimming over here. Unless, clipping dead leaves sounds more up your alley?”

“Soil it is,” Connor quickly switched on the tablet and clicked for Dotty to follow. He’d discovered the hard way that if he didn’t tell her quickly when he was going to dart in some new direction, they would trip the other up.

The probe sunk deep into the dark soil, the electronic pad brightening as it quickly recorded the results. Simple, and not nearly as interesting as chasing a crook down the highway. Closer in excitement to a stack of paperwork. Pushing the probe down into another pod, he waited for the pad to bling again before moving on. On the sixth pod - out of several dozen to go - he realized there was a much simpler way.

“Uh-uh,” Connor jumped at the motherly tone scolding from the other side of the greenhouse. Rose took a gentle breath, trying to pin on the kind of smile Connor himself had put on several times when dealing with a small child at the precinct. “Why don’t we try using the probe to test the flat?”

Connor’s brows furrowed, trying to register why Rose’s attitude towards him had gone from a relatively normal approach to something a little softer, gentler, almost demeaning. He blinked away the new data he was processing from the soil he had sampled, before pausing, recalling his discussion with Markus from earlier. Rose’s farm wasn’t merely a sample career, but also a test to gauge the androids themselves. Rose must have dealt with all kinds, from hateful to furious to anxious to damaged, perhaps some as damaged as the android Ralph had been. Understanding clicked faster than he could transfer the soil data to the tablet.

“Oh… That was not what it looked like.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose hummed incredulously. “What was it, then, because it sure looked to me like someone eating dirt. Was the probe not working and you thought the taste might tell you more?”

“Actually,” Connor straightened, “I am… I was a police model. Detective, actually. There are sensors built into my mouth, directly under my tongue, that allow me to process samples faster than a lab result.”

“You… licked crime scenes.”

“You sound like my dad,” Connor smirked.

“That poor man,” Rose said, sounding more like herself when Connor had first met her. “Alright, wiseguy, what did your highly accurate mouth lab tell you that my high tech dirt probe couldn’t?”

Sinking the probe in, for active comparison, Connor handed the pad back to Rose. “The probe is accurate, but it’s off in the places it matters. Here you can see that it prioritizes reading such as fertilizer content and the equal amounts of nitrogen, phosphate, and potash that are preferable for strawberries.”

“Someone did his research,” Rose suppressed a laugh. “I’ve only been farming since I was a little girl. Next you’re going to tell me that loam is the preferred soil, right?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, but the consistency is off, and this device isn’t meant to read that.” When Rose gave him room to speak, he continued. “I haven’t exactly studied, but I am connected to your WiFi, and my research says that strawberries prefer 30% clay, 30% organic material, and 40% sand.”

“Which is what my provider sells me,” Rose agreed. “Unless…”

“It varies from pod to pod, but the three I tested were between 50 and 62% sand.”

“Looks like I’ll be having another talk with Mr. Willis,” Rose shook her head. “While that’s quite impressive, I’d rather not send you home tonight with a stomach full of dirt. Why don’t we move on from here?”

“Shouldn’t I finish checking the rest of the tray?” Connor offered.

Rose waved him off, directing him back to the supply shelf. “I used the same bag of dirt for all of them. You did good here, Connor. Thanks.”

Connor slid the tablet back in its place, next to the probe, smiling and feeling the most productive in a long time despite having done little more than lick a handful of dirt. “What’s next, Rose?”

“Let’s see… do you like animals?”

Hank would have burst out laughing at the innocent question, had he been here. Connor nodded, hesitated, but nodded. “I like dogs. And I’ve met a few cats. Oh, and pigeons.” He would have listed the fish, but he felt fish were a category all their own.

“Of you sweet city child,” Rose took him by the elbow, neatly avoiding Dotty. “Let’s introduce you to some chickens.”

Chickens. Ducks. Three mammoth turkeys. Sadly, Rose kept no horses - or hay burners, as she had called them - but she did keep a small donkey a local family would have abandoned had she not taken it in. There were also a half dozen goats, and the baby took an immediate special interest in Dotty and bounced towards the bewildered android dog, bleating wildly. Dotty, who seldom moved further than a few feet from Connor, _ran,_ trying to avoid the baby goat as well as fulfill her job of staying close by running in large circles. Seconds before Connor stopped laughing and set down his pail of feed to help the poor dog, Dotty had changed her mind and switched directions. Turning sharply, she chased the goat, who tripped over his hooves, bleating as if Rose was chasing him with a butcher knife instead of a small dalmatian nipping at his knobby heels. The kid ran back to his nanny, screeching for all he was worth.

Thinking the conflict over, Dotty sneezed the dust and grass from her nose and turned, smacking right into the biggest billy goat of the herd. Needless to say, the baby goat was not the only one who cowered behind their guardian.

“Alright,” Rose said after the last of the feed had been distributed. “So, between my son and me and a little help from modern tech, there isn’t too much left to do today.”

Connor could name no fewer than a dozen more farm chores Rose could have given him to do, all from the pamphlet, and all of them he couldn’t do. Not without risking injury to his thirium pump. And seeing how far out he was from the nearest med tech, now was not the time to argue that he’d be perfectly fine pushing a mower or hoeing a pumpkin patch.

Instead, Connor said, “Anything you’re willing to give me, I’m willing to do.”

Rose smiled. “Damn, am I going to hate losing you. But, I know better than to get my hopes up.”

“You never know,” Connor said politely. “Maybe I was actually made for farm work.”

“Oh, I can usually tell,” Rose said. “Head up to the flowerbeds by the back porch. I’m gonna go inside and get us some drinks. And water for Dotty.”

Of course, android dogs weren’t built to run off of biofuel like humanoid androids, but it wouldn’t hurt her and it made Rose smile so Connor thanked her and headed up to the house. The bed was well kept, but the dirt was beginning to harden and little weeds sprout up in the dry cracks.

The back door swung open, the distinct sound of ice clinking around the inside of glasses tinkling merrily. Rose made sure to drop a mixing bowl in the grass, filled with crisp water and exactly two ice cubes all for Dotty.

Rose set a tray with lemonade already dripping with condensation under the warm afternoon sun on the deck steps. “How’s it going over there?”

“Alright,” Connor delicately pushed past the bunchy stems of pink peonies to pluck up another weed. He rocked back on his knees, “Do you usually make people weed your flowerbeds as a farmyard chore?”

“Only if it needs weeding,” Rose confirmed. “And I don’t want to do it myself. Come over here, take a break.”

“I haven’t done all that much,” Connor said, even as he stood to his full height and stretched. Dotty followed him towards the deck only until she spied the water bowl and broke off to lap up the clear liquid.

“We’ll do more later,” Rose offered him a glass of lemonade. “You look hot, take a moment.”

While there was room on the step next to Rose, Connor chose to sit a few steps under her directly on the grass. The tiny green leaves poked through his jeans and tickled at the exposed areas of skin under his shirt. He wasn’t sure when he’d feel grass this soft again, or dirt this cool in the shade, or a view as flat and endless as the stretch of property Rose owned that seemed to go on forever. The green and brown of grass and trees melded seamlessly into the horizon, no buildings and barely a telephone pole to break up the endless facade of nature.

“It’s… nice out here,” Connor said after a moment. “Quiet. No traffic or people cluttering everything up.”

“Peaceful,” Rose said. “Just one of the many things I love about this place. And the main reason why I’ve never left. It may be selfish, but I don’t think I could ever give up the land, the privacy. It’s tough work, and it doesn’t pay well in money, but it pays for itself in other ways.”

“How so?” Connor sipped at his lemonade.

“It lets me work with all sorts of people, help them,” Rose said. “Feeding deviants, offering them a safe place to find themselves. I know what it’s like to need a hand, and I want to do everything I can to help where I’m able.”

Rose was being humble. She did much more than keep the Jericho Free Kitchen stocked and give a once human-shy deviant the confidence he needed to not only join the workforce, but handle animals and drive a tractor. Connor knew she had also served as a safe house for runaway deviants - and he was forever grateful that she had been able to help so many of the people he could have seriously hurt. He took another sip, the sweetness souring at the thought.

“What about you?” Rose asked, drawing Connor from where he contemplated the grass. “What do you like to do.”

A drop of condensation dripped down his glass, running over his finger, dripping to the ground before he answered. “I like to help. I think… that might have been the main reason I enjoyed being a detective so much. Seeing that my actions were actively helping others, instead of hurting them.”

“Is that what you want out of a job?” Rose pressed gently. “To be able to help people, like you did before?”

Slowly, Connor nodded. “I know I don’t have to, but I think I would feel… empty if I worked in a place I couldn’t actively help people.”

“Do you have any ideas how you would like to accomplish that?”

Connor shook his head, finding interest in the grass once more. “I don’t know.”

He looked up as a soft hand pressed into the fabric of his shirt. “Well, isn’t it great that I can’t think of any job that doesn’t help people.”

“Hitman, probably,” Connor supplied.

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, besides _hitman_ , I can’t think of any job - big or small - that doesn’t help others.”

“Mafia boss… druglord,” Connor looked up. He’d never had a mother before, but if he had, he was pretty certain that the look Rose was meeting him with was motherly but not in the fond way. More like the “name one more thing and watch what happens” kind of way. “Sorry.”

Rose shook her head, smothering a smirk. “What sucks, Connor, is I’m not sure what kind of advice I can give you. I like to talk with all the deviants I work with, and have them try to narrow down what their interests and talents are. But, you’re a hard worker and you’d be good at any job you set your hand to. Except hitman.”

“Actually-”

“ _Except hitman_ ,” Rose emphasized. “I think you’re going to have to try some things, weigh the pros and cons, and when it comes down to it…”

“Yeah?”

Rose shrugged. “This is probably the corniest advice I’ve ever passed on, but you’re simply going to have to follow your heart.”

Not… exactly the advice Connor had been hoping for. “That’s it?”

“I’m sorry, Connor, you’re just too damn talented,” Rose chuckled. “You can be anything you want.”

His face fell as Dotty finished her bowl of water and moved back to be with him. The blue vest wrapped around her back was reminder enough that he couldn’t be _anything_ he wanted. Rose must have sensed his shift in mood, or used her motherly sense of knowing exactly what every child was thinking about.

“You’re going to do great things, Connor,” she said. “You only need to be patient with yourself and the rest will work itself out.”

Connor set his now empty glass on the step below the motherly woman. While the day hadn’t been a full waste - he had learned that he enjoyed work well beyond the realm of police work - it hadn’t been as full of realizations as he had hoped. Personally, Connor still pictured himself a detective. But now, he could equally picture himself being a farmhand. Planting and tending seeds, pruning and watering and weeding, tending animals, and supplying healthful foods for his people. He could watch Dotty torment the baby goat and vice-versa. He could be content in a job like this. Happy even.

But now he could imagine himself being anything. And that didn’t help him narrow it down to the one he needed.

“Hey,” Rose said, “you can keep thinking all you need to, but there are still some more chores to get done before the cab comes back for you. Why don’t we finish weeding this bed and then we’ll get you up on the tractor.”

Connor got up so quickly Dotty barked in warning. He steadied himself on the post, smoothly leaning against it as if he was merely one suave android and not blinking black spots out of his vision. “I thought you would never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So despite saying I wasn’t doing research for this story because it’s for stress relief, then I go and research the freaking fertilizer and soil content for strawberries just to be accurate. xD 
> 
> Anywho…
> 
> CONNOR TRIED HIS FIRST JOB!
> 
> And of course, I wanted it to be with Mama Rose. I feel like she played such a big role in the game it was so super overshadowed and barely focused on (time limits, not a main character, but still, the woman deserves some PRAISE). Plus, I wanted to see Connor on the farm and some Connor-Rose interaction. Please do not look to this story for future-farm accuracy or the accuracy of a heart monitoring android dog because it is all being made up as it goes along.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading! This was written/edited at midnight so there are probably errors... sorry! :D


	5. Baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Maybe 3-4 swear words. And a Karen.

“You know,” Connor said with a pout in his voice that did not reflect the excited shimmer in his eyes, “I believe the whole point of this experiment was for _me_ to try things that _I_ wanted to do.”

A long tray of unbaked cookie dough was pressed into his hands. “Go put these in the oven the way I did the other ones,” Nines said. Smiling, he turned towards an island counter and began rolling out a light tan dough.

Connor groaned and yawned widely. The oven blew a hot gust of air as the door was lowered, warm smells of sugar and butter overpowering the room. “And it’s too early. I thought you went into work later than Hank and Sixty.”

“That’s true, most days,” Nines set aside his rolling pin and folded over the thin dough. He began rolling it again. “Usually I stay late and prep what I can the night before, and Ms. Hudson, the owner, comes in early to do what needs to be done the day of. Something came up and we had to switch.”

Connor closed the oven, leaning against it despite the heat that teetered precariously between comfortable and burning. In the corner, Dotty lay out of the way, sleeping heavily despite her valiant fight to fulfil the job her vest required. Occasionally the doggish snores would snort awake, she’d blink around the bakery until her scanning eyes landed on her owner, then she’d settle in again.

“It’s too early for my dog, it’s too early for me,” Connor grumbled.

Pushing himself away from the oven, now too warm, he dragged himself towards his brother. Nines set aside his rolling pin, picked up a pastry brush that had been soaking in a self-warming mug of melted butter, and brushed it over the dough. The thick, drippy oil coated every crevice of the springy dough slowly retracting from its taught, wide width. He dropped the brush back in the mug, folded the dough small and several inches thick, and began rolling it again.

“Whatcha making?” Connor asked, leaning forward far enough for his elbows to rest on the floury surface of the counter and press his fists to his cheeks.

Nines smiled, rolling out his dough. Thunk, thunk, thunk went the pin, sinking deep before spreading the pastry out again and again. A human might have had to use an electric pastry machine, or a rolling machine similar to a pasta maker, but the military strength built into the upgraded police bot was more than enough to defeat the springy, buttery layers moulding beneath his deft hands.

“Nines,” Connor groaned. “Ni-ines. The whole point of this shadow thing is to _learn_. You acting like a dick and not telling me anything isn’t going to help me decide if my life mission is to make cookies for the rest of time.”

“You can learn by listening,” Nines said. “You can learn by watching. Or you can learn by doing. Grab that circle cutter from the middle shelf.”

“Four in the morning and my brother is being mean,” Connor whined as he shuffled towards the shelf. There were two circle cutters. Better let Nines know this catastrophic incident. “There are two cutters. Which one you want?”

Silence. Nines delicately spread another layer of butter over the dough before folding it a few times and taking up his rolling pin.

“Seriously, Nines, I am willing to single-handedly carry every conversation myself, but you really are a jerk if you don’t tell me which damn one you-”

“The double one.”

Conner dropped the single-circle cutter back on the shelf with a clatter. “See, was that so hard?”

“It’s four am,” Nines said. “I’m still waking up.”

Connor snorted. Returning to the island counter, he held out the cutter with a pride not unlike a child holding up the flashlight while their father fixed the sink in broad daylight. Nines took up his rolling pin. Slumping, Connor slouched over the counter and rolled the cutter slowly back and forth.

“Ah-hem.”

Starting, Connor blinked the sleepiness from his eyes. He hadn’t fallen asleep… had he? One part of his brain said absolutely not, he was stronger than that. Androids could run for days without needing sleep. On the other hand, he couldn’t recall the last several minutes and Nine’s dough had to be nearly four inches thick. There was also a steaming cup of coffee by his elbow that hadn’t been there when he had started fiddling with the cutter.

Nines motioned for the simple device resting under Connor’s hand. He slid it over, eagerly grabbing the paper cup and taking a deep sip. The effects weren’t immediate, but it was warm and the coziness was enough for the moment.

“You ever going to tell me what you’re making?” he asked once the caffeine began to process through his body and Nines had delicately punched out a dozen donut shapes.

“Cronuts.”

“Hmm,” Connor nodded. “And that is…”

“A donut-croissant hybrid,” Nines said. Without glancing up, he shook his head as Connor reached for an empty greased baking sheet. “These get fried, to make them crispy and puff up.”

“So… I should on the fryer?”

“You didn’t do that already?”

“ _Nines_.”

Smirking, the taller brother pressed out another cronut. “Three hundred seventy-five degrees, please.”

A simple enough task. In fact, every task so far had been easy. Taking cookie dough out of the large freezers and fridges and popping them in the oven, collecting ingredients, checking on orders to be filled during the day, and setting aside day olds for shelters across the city. Simple. Repetitive. It had the propensity to pick up speed and haste once the bakery opened officially and foot traffic forced them to move faster. But, ultimately, the recipes were exact and the orders a number to be followed. It was methodical and soothing.

“Can I boil them?” Connor asked.

“No,” Nines replied shortly. “Because boiling would destroy them. These get fried, as I said.”

“Oh shut up, can I?”

Nines shrugged. “If you want. Or you can start mixing up the batter for the chocolate cake for the Peterson birthday party coming in at three.”

“You’ve barely had me do anything this whole morning,” Connor groused. “And now you suddenly trust me to make a whole cake? Without you breathing down my neck?”

“You’re short, that will happen regardless,” Nines said. Having cut out enough cronuts, he had moved a majority of them to a wire wrack and made his way over to the fryer by Connor. “And, as much as I would never say this in public, you’re rather good at following directions.”

Silence. Nines was the quiet one, not Connor. Connor was the sometimes shy and introverted but most of the time the extremely chatty one. He set down the wire rack.

“Well? Fryer or cake?”

Contemplating, Connor thought a moment. He knew what he wanted to do within 2.4 seconds, but he let a good thirty extra tick by before the burning heat of the fryer beginning to boil behind him was preferable to the strict glare of the taller brother.

“Recipe, please,” Connor said quickly, eyes rapidly blinking and LED flashing yellow as Nines transmitted him the instructions.

Eggs. Flour. Sugar. Cream. Bakers chocolate. Cocoa powder. Butter. Vanilla extract. Nines had also sent him the recipe for buttercream frosting, but there was a fresh tub chilling in the fridge so he’d ask which to use later. He measured out ingredients into a large mixing bowl as the sun finally decided to make an appearance. Dotty, toasting up as nicely as the cookies were, stretched awake for a final time. Her tail thumped against the wall as the mingling of scents from every corner wafted through the air, and the fryer hissed as Nines began dropping in cronuts.

Chocolate, heavy and milky, began to mix the with scent of sugar cookies and bubbling oil. Connor stopped his sifting of the dry ingredients as Nines scooped out a completed pastry. Somehow, against all odds, the thick dough made of several layers of dough and butter folded into countless layers had puffed up even thicker. Sensing his brother’s eyes watching him, Nines plucked the piping cronut still dripping in oil from the ladle and broke it in half. Steaming, he popped it in his mouth.

“Isn’t it hot?” Connor asked, even as Nines presented him with the other molten half.

“What are you, human?” the quiet android teased.

Breaking off an even smaller piece, Connor crammed the larger half in his mouth. Expectedly, it was hot. Steam seeped from his mouth like a muffled dragon as he sucked in a breath. A human would no longer would have had taste buds, and would have been crying from the pain of burning the entirety of their mouth and tongue. Instead, through the heat, Connor could taste the flavour of the butter with the same intensity he could taste the temperature it was in the crust versus the core.

“Not bad,” he said as he let out a mouthful of steam. Plucking the spare piece from the counter, he made sure it was cool enough before holding it out to Dotty. Two sniffs, the dart of a tongue, and the chunk of deep fried pastry dough disappeared as if snapped up by the panting jaws of thin air.

Wordlessly, the brothers returned to their work. They had two hours to finish up with their current tasks, clean up, maybe pop in a few more batches of prepped cookie dough, and set out all the prepared desserts for the stream of customers ready for a sweet start to their day.

Across the room, over the buzz of a timer going off and the whisk in his hand beating together the dry ingredients with the wet, and the heavy boil and sizzle of the fryer, Connor heard Nines take a steady breath. The kind he usually took before he wanted to talk, but found it difficult as it was outside the realm of brotherly teasing or quiet, mindless chit-chat. Slowly, over time, the family had learned it best to continue their tasks and let Nines find his words, no matter how long it took. He would talk when he had thought about what he wanted to say, beginning to end, and was ready. And not a second before.

Connor had greased up four round cake tins and poured equal amounts of batter into each before a quiet voice came from the direction of the ovens, switching out hot pans for cold.

“Have you thought about what you’re looking for?” he asked, setting the steamy tray on an opposite counter. He’d materialized a spatula from somewhere, and one of the many wire racks. “Out of a job, I mean.”

Connor paused from where he shook the cake pans, leveling the viscous chocolate within. “Nines, as nice as this is, I don’t think I’m really cut out to be a baker.”

“I know,” Nines said. “I’m not upset, Connor. You wouldn’t last three hours after the first rush hour before becoming bored out of your mind.”

“Not that this isn’t relaxing…” Connor smirked. “But it’s not quite what I’m after.”

“Wait until you meet a Karen,” Nines stated. He began transferring chocolate chip cookies. “The dessert she ordered that you made specifically to her requirements - do to your android recollection - somehow still manages to be wrong and now she wants twice as much as before. For free. Oh, don’t forget to tap out the air bubbles.”

Connor complied. “Not bad, but try a 2AM junkie high off his ass on an overdose of red ice threatening to stab you with a spoon he snapped into a shank.”

“Easily managed.”

“Naked.”

Blue eyes widened. Nines returned to his cookies. Connor slid the cakes in the oven besides him. After a moment, Nines took another thoughtful, word-preparing inhale.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Connor asked. “Did you mess with my recipe? I swear-”

“I’m-” the words were a barely audible, emotional whisper. “I’m so selfish.” He didn’t look up when a smaller hand came to rest on his shoulder, questioning but giving him space. “You’ve barely started looking, and you haven’t tried anything for yourself yet, but I… I made you work with me.”

“Like you could make me do anything,” Connor smirked, He moved his thumb comfortingly over the lightly floured area of his brother’s shoulder. “Is there a reason you wanted me to work with you?”

The deviant shrugged. Transferred cookies. Moving within Connor’s reach. Dotty, comfortable and mainly undisturbed in her corner, rose from her spot and settled by the big android’s feet.

“It’s alright if there is,” Connor said. “And it’s alright if there isn’t. You don’t have to tell me… but, there is something I should probably tell you.” Nines made no comment for him to continue, but he also did not tell him to stop. Connor went on. “Nines, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m really glad you asked me to shadow with you, because otherwise, I would have had to pick something on that stupid list I made and I don’t know how I feel about any of them. But getting to work with you, even for a day, is one day longer I don’t have to stress about whatever strange thing I’ll have to do tomorrow.”

“You won’t struggle at any job,” Nines said.

“Doesn’t make them any less terrifying. Nines, yesterday I almost put in for a dentist’s shadow. A _dentist_. I don’t want to stick my hands in someone else’s mouth!”

The tension in Nine’s shoulders eased as he chuckled, short and sweet. The smile fell as the last cookie was dispensed on the cooling rack. “I’m sorry, Connor.”

“Nines, you really don’t-”

“When you were hurt,” Connor snapped his mouth shut. “and we weren’t sure if you’d… And then you were sick for so long. I- I needed to see for myself. You looked so happy when you came back from Rose’s farm, you hadn’t smiled like that in so long.”

“Nines,” Connor said gently. “You’re jumping all over the place.”

“I wanted to see that you really are better.” Nines blurted. “That you’re not sick, or hurting, or hiding something and that doing all of this working and job hunting and everything isn’t going to make you worse. That’s why I wanted you to work with me. I’m testing you. I’m testing my brother to make sure he isn’t lying. It’s selfish.”

A beat. The timer on the oven ticked by the seconds. Birds trilled noisily from the decorative trees outside. The thready hum of early morning traffic began to pick up as the city woke up. Dotty shifted on the floor, her furry haunches rubbing against the fabric of Nines’ pants.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Nines couldn’t meet Connor’s eyes.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked. “Do I get the official RK900 seal of approval?”

Nines turned. “You’re not mad?”

“I will be if you don’t tell me,” Connor threatened, but the scorn didn’t reach his eyes or voice.

Nines smiled once more. “We’ll have to see how that cake turns out. Once it’s cooled I’ll send you the request put in for frosting and decorations.”

Connor rolled up his sleeves, despite the cake needing no fewer than twenty more minutes of baking and another thirty for cooling in the freezer. “Challenge accepted.”

\---

Business picked up right at eight in the morning and it did not taper off until a little after ten. Non-stop traffic. A constant flow of people, both human and androids, forming a long line and ringing up orders from single muffins to office sized breakfasts that technically should have been ordered ahead, but were scraped together with only seconds to spare before the next customer rushed in on their way to work.

Then it trickled off until the lunch rush when people hurried in again to get their sugar fix before heading right back to the daily grind. On and off, the front door bell would tinkle merrily as a mother pushed in a stroller and would order something small on her walk. An android came in - a regular, Nines had said - and ordered an odd blend of a raspberry passion fruit jam muffin and a sea salt caramel cookie and ate them at one of the tables in front of the _Ms. Hudson’s Sweet Thangs_. Together. At the same time. Sandwich style. The method and ingredients made no sense, but it made the android happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Between bagging orders and running transactions, Nines had him find time to finish the chocolate cake for the party. The unsteady rhythm of on and off traffic would have been maddening if Connor hadn’t known it was only for one day, but thankfully there was nearly always busywork. Cleaning, restocking, prepping, taking inventory. It helped move the day along, between mixing up vanilla frosting and multicolored royal icing to pipe decor. After exploding only one frosting bag and coating his entire arm in purple icing, Connor discovered he made a pretty mean frosting rose.

Needless to say, despite knowing from the start the life of a baker was not his calling, he felt pretty damn good boxing up the simple _Happy Birthday, Mike!_ cake. Purple roses, decorate swoops along the side, and a delicious blend of thick chocolate ganache and chopped strawberry filling.

When Mrs. Peterson came in to pick up the cake, Connor was more than ready to hand it over and watch the close of a job well done.

The petite, blonde woman with a rather chunky bob cut to her hair dragged the box over the counter and flicked up the lid, credit card clutched in her free hand.

“Everything check out?” Connor asked out of politeness. He knew it was correct. Nines had sent him every last instruction requested in the order.

“Hmm…” the woman said, sniffing lightly. “Strawberries in the middle?”

“And ganache,” Connor said.

“Hmm…” Mrs. Peterson hummed again. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

Slowly, Connor tiled the box towards himself. His LED flashed yellow as he mentally pulled up the order. “Happy birthday, Mike. Chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and strawberry filling. White vanilla buttercream with purple decor. Is there something missing?”

“I ordered this in blue,” Mrs. Peterson said. “White frosting with blue words. This is for my husband’s birthday, I can’t give him a purple cake.”

“I’m… sorry about that, but the form specifically said purple,” Connor said politely. Polite. Smile. Stand straight. Smile. The customer is the most important person in the room. Never. Stop. Smiling. This wasn’t the police force, he couldn’t tackle anyone who opposed him and slap them in cuffs. Here, he was powerless.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Mrs. Peterson snapped. “I wanted a blue cake for my husband. It’s his birthday and I want- no, we _need_ to have a cake for his birthday.”

“Uhhh…” Connor’s mind blanked. What the hell did people do when they couldn’t cuff people. “Lemme check and see… maybe we can scrape it off and change it to blue?”

“I don’t have time! I needed this now, for tonight. It’s my husband’s forty-third birthday! You are _ruining_ my husband’s birthday!” the woman was outright shouting now, her voice impossibly loud in the small bakery. The bell tinkled as a new customer stepped inside, paused, and stepped back outside.

“Ma’am, if you could please calm down,” Connor switched on his negotiation software. Behind him, Dotty poked out from under the register counter, more alarmed by the noise than Connor’s condition. “There’s been a simple misunderstanding here, and if you’d allow me to-”

“Calm down?” Mrs. Peterson exclaimed. “After you’ve ruined my husband’s party?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s ruined-”

Mrs. Peterson gasped as if Connor had said what he had been thinking instead of what his negotiation software prompted. What he had thought had included the words “shut up” and “bitch.”

“Where is your manager,” Mrs. Hudson flipped back her hair. “I want to speak to him. _Now._ ”

“The owner _Ms._ Hudson is out at the moment and-”

“Not my problem! You get me someone who- oh my god! What is _that?_ ” the woman shrieked, pointing towards Dotty. “Oh my god, there’s a dog. A dog- that’s a health violation.”

“Actually-”

“Excuse me,” a soft voice Connor never thought he’d hear as the voice of salvation interrupted. “Is there a problem here?”

“Several, starting with- oh,” Mrs. Peterson scoffed. “It’s _you_.”

“Hello, Carrie,” Nines smiled pleasant.

“I don’t want you, I want your manager.”

“Ms. Hudson is out at the moment and she will not return until later this week,” Nines said smoothly. “It appears you’ll have to deal with me.”

Clearly unhappy, her pale face turning redder then the strawberry reduction Nines had squeezed into the jam donuts, Mrs. Peterson stomped her foot. “Fine. First of all, you can get rid of that filthy animal! It’s a health hazard, and shedding all over the place.”

“Impossible,” Nines said in mock surprise as he looked towards Dotty, visibly unhappy at the argument. “She’s an android dog, and even the deviant once don’t shed. She’s a good girl.”

“It’s still a health hazard. Dogs aren’t allowed inside anywhere that makes food. I could call the police right now and have you shut down,” Peterson threatened.

Quickly, Nines fished out the little used cell phone in his back pocket. “Here, allow me. Our father is a cop and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to explain that a licensed medical dog, clearly in a bright blue vest here, has special exception to be anywhere she needs to be.”

“This asshole fucked up my cake!” Mrs. Peterson was beyond angry, her short bob frizzing the angrier and sweater her face became. “If he were my employee he’d be fired.”

“Connor, you’re fired.”

“Please, I have a family. I don’t know what I’d do without this job.”

“Fix this!” Mrs. Peterson’s voice reached a new pitch as she shoved the cake forward, only saved from a nasty smash by Nine’s expert hands. “You’re ruining my husband’s birthday! I ordered a blue cake - _blue_ \- like your stupid dog. I can’t give a _man_ a purple cake.”

“Purple’s my favorite color,” Nines stated. “However, I did happen to take the liberty of printing out your order slip.”

“Good,” Mrs. Peterson stomped. “If you’d look over the slip I _carefully_ filled out, you’ll see I checked off the color blue.”

Slowly, Nines looked over the receipt, doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact he was merely humoring the woman. “Hmm… you must be mistaking us for another bake shop. Here you type out your order requests in one comment box. Right here, see? You clearly typed out _purple flowers and piping_.”

“I didn’t write that.”

“Well, we certainly didn’t write it for you,” Nines said. “I’m very sorry, but we are rather busy today and we have several other customers to serve. If you could decide if you want the cake or not? I will remind you, there is a small rejection fee to pay if you decide against it. Covers the cost of ingredients, things like that.”

Nines smiled wider as a credit card bounced off his forehead and clattered to the counter. “I assume you’ll be taking it, then?”

“You’re forcing me to buy a shitty product,” Mrs. Peterson complained as Nines rung her up. “Taking advantage of customer’s trust, stealing their money. Ruining my husband’s birthday. I swear, this’ll be the last time you ever see me here!”

“She said that last time, too,” Nines stage whispered to Connor, who bit his lip to hold back a snort. As Mrs. Peterson snatched up her box, he waved pleasantly. “Enjoy!”

No sooner had the door slammed shut behind the woman did Connor lean against the display case and huff out, “Holy shit, Nines!”

The taller one cleared his throat, gesturing with his head towards the customer who had tried to come in earlier, slinking back in. Connor lowered his voice, but was no less stunned.

“Seriously, my negotiation software was about to fritz. And over something as stupid as a cake!”

“I told you about the Karen earlier,” Nines said, but the slight slump in his shoulders showed that, while skillful in customer service, he was close to using up his word quota of the day.

“You gave me her order on purpose, didn’t you?” Connor teased. The customer waved him over, asking for a few of this and a couple of that and - oh - absolutely one of those.

“Couldn’t leave you totally bored,” Nines said, a more natural smile overcoming his tired features as the customer left an extra large tip in the tip jar.

Much to Connor’s dismay, Dotty chose that moment to boop her nose against his leg. The alarm in his head went off, and Nines’ phone went off, beeping an annoying tune Connor knew was not any set ringtone. Dotty booped him again.

“Really?” he huffed.

“Why don’t you take your lunch now,” Nines suggested as a mother with four young children entered the shop. “I’ll watch the register.”

“We already had lunch,” Connor pointed out, even as Dotty’s boops became more apparent, followed by a paw to his shoe. “It’s three o’clock.”

“Second lunch,” Nines said.

Dotty pawed him again, harder, making certain she had Connor’s attention before she sneezed in frustration.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Connor scoffed in return, allowing the dog to do her job and all but bite his leg and drag him into the back room. Dotty wasn’t going to give him a choice in worrying about himself and his health - it was what she’d been programmed for. Nines didn’t have to worry about him being an idiot and ignoring what he needed, proving he was ready to join the active workforce. And, in the biggest and most surprising tidbit of knowledge Connor had learned that day, Nines was more than capable of looking out for himself, despite whatever protective instincts he may have felt around his quietest, youngest brother.

But, if he felt the need to lend a hand and a knowing smirk when a certain ex-professor and current co-leader of Jericho showed up for his orange-cranberry scones - that was an entirely different situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needed some more Nines action. A little brotherly love. But in a quiet, hopefully not totally cheesy way. xD This absolutely would not have been able to happen had Sixty or Hank been around. 
> 
> You can take Josh-Nines from my cold, dead hands cuz apparently my brain really likes shipping them together now all of a sudden? But only quiet Nines. I don’t feel like they’d be a good pair if it was violent Nines. I dunno what to call it tho. Jines? Nosh? Jiles? 
> 
> And another job down, and several more ideas to come in its place! Job suggestions/scenarios are welcome, of course.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy, and happy holidays to all who celebrate!


	6. Veterinarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Descriptions of surgery on an animal. Animal death. (Neither surgery nor death is Dotty the Dalmatian).

She was the most beautiful, softest, blindingly colorful thing Connor had ever seen in his admittedly short life to date. With large, beady eyes that bore into his with an intelligence unfitting a creature so small, Connor knew with certainty what his next mission was

He was going to convince Hank to get a parrot.

“She’s amazing,” Connor said breathlessly, gently reaching towards the scarlet macaw perched delicately on the human vet’s arm. “What did you say her name was?”

“ _Fuck off!”_ the bird screeched, wagging her head. Connor jerked back as a heavy beak snapped towards his fingers.

Dr. William Martin, head veterinarian at the Detroit Animal Hospital and Veterinary Services, chucked as he soothed the irritated bird. “This is Siri, one of our frequent fliers, if you don’t mind the pun.”

Connor did not. “What an interesting name.”

Dr. Martin carefully placed the bird on the mental slab in the small room that severed as an observation table. He motioned Connor closer. “Not really, it’s a joke off of some old phone software that you could talk to. You can come closer, don’t worry, it won’t hurt if she bites _you_.”

“Androids have pain receptors,” Connor said firmly. Across the room, Dotty perked her head up as she detected a small spike in stress. Discreetly, Connor held up a finger, keeping her in place.

Dr. Martin looked at him oddly, mostly distracted as the large bird in his hands began screeching and flapping wildly. Once the bird had settled, and he’d taken a moment to think, his eyes widened. “Oh shit, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I meant - Christ, that’s a damn slip up. I meant Siri has a beak strong enough to damage a human’s finger, if not snap it clear off. I swear, I didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt you like _pain_. More like, you probably wouldn’t lose your hand.”

“Oh,” Connor felt a warm rush of thirium color his cheeks and heat his neck. He couldn’t blame himself for where his mind had gone - human-android relations, while strengthening, were still on thin ice. It was impossible to tell when a human might reveal their true colors, and let their anti-android flag fly. However, there was no way that Jericho did not vet their shadow programs and volunteers to weed out the bad ones, and would have never allowed anyone with an ounce of anti-android sentiment to join. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-”

Dr. Martin frantically shook his head, loose blonde hair flopping. “No, I shouldn’t- Look, I’m better with animals, man. That’s why I’m a vet.”

Connor couldn’t help the laugh that burbled out of him. “I can relate.”

“Come here,” Dr. Martin motioned him closer. “I’ve got to give Ms. Siri here her check-up, but as you can see-” he struggled as the bird escaped his grip and flapped one wing until it was pinned again, “she wants to do the exact opposite of everything we need her to do. Which is sit still like a _good little bird_ , isn;t that’s right, Ms. Siri?” He cleared his throat. “Are you comfortable holding on to her while I give the exam?”

“Of course,” Connor said, eager to both play a role and glide his fingers over those silky, bright feathers of yellow, blue, and inviting blood red. “Should I just, put my hands over yours and then you can-”

“ _Fuck off!_ ” Siri screeched, although she didn’t squirm. _“Fuck off!”_

Drawing back, Connor looked towards the veterinarian for assistance. “I don’t believe she wants me near her.”

“Oh, she says that to everyone,” Dr. Martin said. “Don’tcha?”

_“Fuck off!”_ Siri clicked her tongue. “ _Damn hungry. Damn hungry. Fuck_.”

“As I’m sure you’re researching, parrots are excellent mimics,” Dr. Martin said, speaking as Connor slowly made his move. “You can teach a parrot all kinds of things to say. Television jingles, maybe a line of poetry, heard a couple sing close to whole songs. But… some people find it funny to teach their birds cuss words. And, yeah, it’s freaking hysterical until you realize animals tend to repeat what they’ve been taught over and over again.”

Quickly, the Martin pulled his hands away as Connor held firm. “Got her.”

“Hold her tight, it’s a pain in the ass if she pops a wing out. She aims for the face, too,” Martin chattered as he scurried around the room. He was a hyper man, clearly more at ease around animals than people, perhaps the trademark of a good vet, but clearly he was willing to talk with anything and anyone. “Siri there is one of our older patients, already fifty-two years old, and around four years ago her owner let her out to play and the old girl thought it’d be smart to try and fly straight out the door.”

“Did she escape?” Connor asked, adjusting his grip. The feathers were more slippery than he thought, and he could feel the bird staring at him, watching for a sign of weakness.

“Not quite,” Dr. Martin grabbed a clipboard from a shelf and felt his pocket for a pen. Finding it missing, he darted over towards Dotty to snag one from a pencil cup. “Excuse me, darling, lemme just- ah, there we go. No, she didn’t get out, thankfully. It was dead winter so she wouldn’t have lasted too long in the cold. No, Siri, in all her many years of wisdom, flew right into the door and broke her wing. That was a dark day.”

Waiting for an explenation, Connor was surprised to receive none. Before he could question further, the bird began to squirm and draw his full attention back on keeping his fingers gentle but unbreakable.

“Anyways,” Dr. Martin drawled as he dropped the clipboard next to Siri and began prodding the bird lightly. “Due to her age she’s never healed quite right, so we keep an eye on her to make sure there’s no pain, no other health problems, and that Siri’s alright to go home until her next check-up. Okay, eyes look good, beak clean. Oop, sorry, didn’t mean to ruffle ya so much, there.”

Siri’s neck seemed to have extended clear out of Connor’s grip, her multi-hued feathers spreading out like the spindly branches of a pine tree in irritation.

“I’ve never seen a parrot before” Connor mused. “Do you tend to a lot of birds?”

Dr. Martin hummed, checking the large claws and feet and legs next. “Nothing as special as Siri, that’s for sure. We’ll see song birds, both organic and android, from time to time. Same with the dogs and cats, although we see way more of those on a typical day.”

“I didn’t know you tended to android pets,” Connor said, allowing his attention to slip from the bird to the dog also watching him across the room. Feeling self conscious at both the wary eyes of the bird and the gentle eyes of Dotty observing him, he switched back towards the more troublesome of the two.

“Mm-hmm,” Dr. Martin said with no limit of pride in his voice, “It’s more of a recent development, but one of our android hires used to work as a tech, allowing us to finally expand into the world of android animals, like Dotty over there. Isn’t that right?”

Dotty barked in reply, tail swishing as if she understood every word the doctor had spoken. Perhaps, being an android, she could, and simply could not respond in human speech. That would be terrible a existence, Connor thought, being able to understand every word around you but never being able to respond in anything more than unintelligible yips, whines, and nose boops.

Dr. Martin was still talking as Connor tuned back in. “After this we’ll probably team you up with Andre. He’s new as well but damn good at what he does. I think he came to us from the same program you’re doing.”

“Interesting,” Connor said. “That sounds good, I’d love to talk to someone who successfully went through the shadow program.”

“ _Damn_ ,” Siri screeched as she squirmed to find a weak hold in Connor’s steady grip. _“Damn. Damn good. Fuck!”_

Allowing the bird to draw her talons back, Dr. Martin rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so far so good. Usually we’d have to manually take some more readings like heart, lung, metabolism, all those fun inner-workings, but thanks to some big secret donations we got over the holidays last year we were able to upgrade to the examination tables that do all those readings for us.”

“Meaning?” Connor asked.

“Meaning, on to the hard part,” Martin said excitedly. “I have to examine her wings one at a time, check the feathers, spread them out a little, make sure those bones are still holding up nice and strong.”

The wings. Siri’s wings. Siri’s strong, quivering wings squirming within Connor’s steady grip. The grip that was keeping the bird from smacking them in the face with those colorful wings and shooting up towards the ceiling. As if sensing Connor’s thoughts, Siri stilled, twisting her head all the way around like an owl to peer at him with a studious side-eye. She snipped her beak at him.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Connor asked slowly.

“Very, very carefully,” Dr. Martin replied. “We don’t want to hurt the old girl, now, do we, Ms. Siri?”

“ _Fuck off!_ ”

Undisturbed, Martin crouched lower towards the table. “So, here’s the game plan. Usually, I’d have one of nurses in your place distracting her. But, since Siri here doesn’t know you as well as she knows my nurses, our normal distractions aren’t going to work. She’s not going to care if you click your tongue at her, or call her a pretty bird, or sing for her. Actually…”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you don’t want me to sing.”

Dr. Martin laughed. “Of course not, that would be absolutely ridiculous. Would you happen to know the lyrics to the song _All Star?_ ”

Hank had only introduced him and his brothers a million times, in a myriad of different way. “I.. may be familiar.”

“Alright, I’m gonna start with the distraction. Once I’ve got her going, make sure you keep a good grip on her other wing and body. When I give the signal, we’ll switch wings,” Martin explained carefully. “Got it?”

“I’m not sure I-”

“You’ll get it as we go,” Martin said. “Hey, hey girl, hey, Ms. Siri. Can you look at me? It’s Doctor Willie, your favorite doctor!” Slowly, Siri turned her neck away from Connor and towards the vet on the other side of the table. Connor had once watched a movie with Sixty about an evil child that had twisted their head around the same way. “Alright, get ready Connor! Siri, _Somebody_ -”

As if injected with a powerful drug, the bird’s pupils dilated as she screeched out, “ _Once told me-_ ”

Swiftly, Dr. Martin pried up a wing and stretched it to its full glory of every color the scarlet macaw owned. He brushed over the feathers, smoothing them neatly into place as he tested how well the feathers held in place and how healthy they looked near the tip.

Siri continued on, shouting the lyrics of the song tunelessly. In the background, Dotty whined at the screeching noise. After a few lines, the bird defaulted back to the start of the song, screeching out the same lines again and again and again in a torturous and endless broken record worse than the one _Nights of the Black Death_ album Hank owned that had a horrible scratch down the center but he refused to throw away.

“ _Somebody… Somebody… Somebody…_ ” Siri began to wind down, clicking and whistling and swinging her head around to look from Connor to the vet. _“Some…body?”_

“Once told me,” Connor said swiftly, flinching as the bird blinked back into her pop song stupor and screamed the next line of the song.

“Switch,” Martin said in a loud whisper, although he might have simply been talking at a normal tone. It was hard to tell over the damn bird. Connor decided that Dotty and Sumo were quite enough, and he would never mention to Hank, nor Nines, and especially not to Sixty that for a moment he had wanted a pet macaw.

With the same efficiency as before, the vet tested the next wing, barely looking disturbed by the deafening screams and snapping beak mere inches away from his ears. The human’s delicate auditory system had to be close to bleeding, seeing as Connor’s were throbbing.

“Alright, pin her back down,” Dr. Martin said. “Ms. Siri, I give you a clean bill of health. Which reminds me, I have to send another kind of bill entirely to your owner… What was their name again?”

“ _Fuck off!_ ”

“Eh, you’re right, the secretary probably remembers it,” Dr. Martin agreed. “Alright, Connor, give me two minutes and I’m going to pop into the hallway for her cage. Typically I’d keep it in here for ease, but since it’s a little more crowded than usual in here I had to-”

“I understand,” Connor cut in as Siri began to squirm with urgency. Her checkup was done, and Siri knew it and refused to stay here, pinned beneath the hands of an android, for a minute longer.

“Be right back!”

A shudder traveled up Connor’s spine as the door slammed shut behind the hyper veterinarian, leaving him alone with Siri. Dotty was in the back, but the way she began to cower in her corner, she wasn’t going to be any help at all if Siri escaped. The bird clicked her beak, cocking her head until her yellow eyes bore into Connor’s, and she narrowed her ruby red eyelids.

\---

“It’s going to be okay,” Connor soothed outside the doors of the operation room. “It’ll all be over soon, okay?”

Dotty sneezed in his face, huffing.

“I can’t help that it’s essential personnel only inside the OR,” Connor explained, still uncertain if Dotty understood what he said or simply responded to his tone of voice. She relaxed the more he explained, although he was also stroking her head around the little nub she enjoyed having scratched. “And, yes, I understand that you yourself are essential in your own way, and if this were a normal situation you’d be allowed inside with me, but it’s another dog in there. And she’s having puppies, so she’s probably feeling territorial right now, and another dog might upset her. Understand?”

The little dog’s tongue lolled out of her mouth as Connor moved to her left ear - another favorite. Her hind leg began to thump in pleasure.

“Connor?” an android woman asked as she pushed open the OR door from the inside. “Are you ready to come in?”

“Of course,” he answered quickly, jumping to his feet a little fast as he had to blink away black spots. “Dotty, stay, I’ll be out soon.”

Obedient as ever, Dotty slumped to the ground before a short line of empty chairs. Obedient, but clearly upset at being separated from her owner that might need her, as she sniffed again in displeasure.

The petite woman, named Bell, held the door open for Connor to enter. “Step right over there by Andre and he’ll show you how to scrub up.”

As obedient as the dalmatian waiting outside, Connor nodded and did as directed. “Hello, my name is Connor.”

“Heard you were coming,” Andre said. “And Bell already introduced me. You’re the bot shadowing today, right?”

“That’s me,” Connor said as he pumped soap into his hands and began to scrub, mirroring the other android’s movements. “I haven’t tried many jobs before this one, although to be fair, this is the first I’ve chosen for myself.”

Andre nodded in understand. “I feel ya. I tried a good eight or nine before coming back to my fifth and asking to join this place. Not sure if someone told you already, but I used to work as a tech so switching over to animals was as natural as it felt right, ya know?”

“Not yet,” Connor said, “but I understand what you’re saying.”

“The shadow system’s great,” Andre began rinsing as Connor continued to scrub. “It really does help you learn to think for yourself, as they make sure there’s nothing and nobody talking you into anything at all. It’s hard at first, but once you feel something click,” he scooted over for Connor to rinse, “it’s amazing, man.”

“Have you worked here long?” Connor asked, washing away the last of the suds and accepting the paper towel handed to him.

Andre shrugged. “Not too long, maybe a month or so. But I’ve done what feels like years of work in that month alone, and loved almost every minute of it.”

“Almost?”

“There’s a downside to every job,” Andre said. “But you’re here to experience a normal day, not ride the highs and lows of a crazy-busy animal hospital. You’re all scrubbed up, and since we’re androids we don’t need the Glove-On,” he motioned towards the dispenser spraying an antimicrobial sheath on the hands of the human surgeons and nurses. “Follow me.”

Immediately, the next room instilled a mood entirely different from the chaotic yet fun aura the examination room with Dr. Martin had exhumed. The operating room was both dull and bright at the same time, crisp and sterile with its clean blues and whites and silvers. In the middle of the room rested a mobile examination table, locked in place with a large lump in the middle cloaked in a blue surgical sheet. A single nurse monitored the lump, adjusting nearby machines with a skilled hand.

“Here,” Andre motioned. “You can come closer, just be certain not to touch anything. And, I’m gonna let you know now cuz we’ve had a few bots get upset when they learned it later on, but you’re not gonna do anything but watch.”

“Oh,” Connor said, “I’d assumed that was the case, seeing as I’m neither a vet nor a surgeon.”

Andre relaxed, “Cool, cool. You’d be amazed how many bots come in here, all scrubbed up, thinking they’ll be handed a scalpel and told where to cut. Alright, this here is Luna, a purebred yellow lab that’s a few days overdue for her pups.”

Connor nodded. Sadly, he was unable to see much of the dog from where he stood, due to the blue sheet, but the great width stretching upwards left little to the imagination on how uncomfortably pregnant the unconscious dog was. 

“How many puppies?” he asked.

“Seven,” Andre replied. “A slightly smaller litter for her breed, and normally a few days overdue is nothing terrible, but the owner noticed she was having trouble breathing and when we checked her out all the heart rates were too low. Gonna have to cut ‘em out before things get too outta hand.”

“Got it,” Connor said, despite not being able to assist in any way himself.

The surgeon, Bell, entered the room followed by the human assistants. Methodically, they began to take their place around the bed and by the surgical tools. Andre motioned for Connor, positioning him towards the head of the table where the lab’s head stuck out from beneath the sheet. A thick oxygen mask wrapped over her muzzle misted oxygen and medicine to keep the dog under.

“Stay right here, unless someone tells you to move,” Andre explained quietly as the surgeon went over the game plan with the others. “Like I said, hands to yourself, watching quietly. If you have a question, ping them to me. No talking or Bell will kick you out.”

“Got it,” Connor agreed quickly.

“Okay,” Bell’s crisp voice drew the attention of everyone in the room. “Jake and Paula, I want you both ready to receive and monitor with that incubator. Everyone’s reading stable so far, but we all know how fast that can change. Janet, keep watching those readings, and Andre, you’re my second set of hands.”

“Ready,” Andre said.

The coming actions and surgery were not exactly something Connor found himself exceptionally into. The procedure was interesting, the precision and skill of everyone in the room working together as one cog in a grand machine was inspiring. But, the smell of blood, the goopy look of the dogs insides, and the squelching of fat and organs moving about was not a calling Connor felt himself drawn to. It was more of a repulsion.

_“Don’t go passing out on us,”_ a humored voice sounded in Connor’s head. _“We’re about to get to the fun bit. Pups incoming in three, two, one…”_

“Get in there, Andre,” Bell ordered. “I got you a clear shot.”

The android’s hand disappeared into the guts of the dog, and Connor momentarily felt as if he’d stood up too quickly despite having remained standing the entire time. The ringing in his ears cut away to crystal clarity as Andre quickly pulled up the first pup, covered in all sorts of nasty, viscous, slimy materials that resembled too much like Nine’s strawberry reduction before he strained out the pulp and seeds.

Quickly, the nurses jumped into action, grabbing the puppies as quickly as Andre could pull them up and neatly depositing them in the incubator. Once four puppies had been placed inside, the female nurse stayed at the incubator while the male nurse ran pups as the delivery speed slowed. She had produced some odd device from one of the trays of tools, and reached inside the incubator producing all kinds of suction noises from within. And then, the nicest sound Connor had ever heard - whimpering.

First one, then two, then a chorus of whimpers and cries of newborn pups filling the room with noise. Connor stretched on his toes, wishing for his brother’s height.

_“You can go over,”_ Andre spoke through internal messaging. _“Just don’t get in the way_.”

“ _You don’t have to tell me twice!”_ Connor texted back.

The puppies were… gross. Dipped in what he continued to tell himself was nothing more than jelly, the squirmy lumps no longer than a stick of butter cried out and shivered at their first taste of the outside world. Silently, the nurse produced a clean rag and began to gently clean up the pups individually, removing the gunk from their pale, golden fur. The other nurse gentle placed in two more, who quickly joined their siblings in crying, bringing the total up to the full seven pups. Connor had never seen a baby before, let alone an animal baby. They were so small, so wriggly, so oddly shaped when compared to the finished product. They didn’t look like dogs, not quite, but they didn’t look like anything he could compare them to. Maybe a rat? He’d seen one in the subway before, but while they were similar in size the rats weren’t a good comparison either.

“Bell,” a female voice from the operation said quickly, three seconds before a machine began to beep in a frantic pace Connor was all to familiar with himself.

“Shit,” Andre cussed. “Everything’s crashing. She’s-” Mid-sentence, the android got to work. Despite his lack of LED, it was clear he was reading what Bell wanted him to do before she could tell him, cutting down on time wasted on words.

Their hands flew, mere blurs of action and movement. The machines beeped. The puppies whined. The human nurse monitoring the machines snapped something Connor didn’t understand, but before either surgeon or assistant could reply, a single tone drowned out every other sound in the room. The single, monotonous, damning squeal of a flatline.

Andre’s eyes widened as he snapped towards the head surgeon. “Bell, we can-”

“Call it.”

“If you’d let me try-”

“It wouldn’t work,” Bell said. “Call it, Andre.”

“Bell-”

“Time of death, one forty-eight PM,” Bell said. There was a coldness in her stature that did not reach or eyes or voice. Had she been android, her LED would have been flashing a blend of yellow and red. “Nothing would have worked, Andre, you know that as good as I do.”

The taller android grabbed a rag from a nearby tool cart, violently wiping off his fingers. He stormed out of the room, pushing past the nurses without a word.

The one who had suctioned out the puppies mouth and noses, Paula, Connor believed her name was, pointed towards the door Andre had slammed past. “You can probably head out, too. I’m not sure what Dr. Martin will tell you to do, but don’t be surprised if he cuts your day short because of… this.”

Stunned, Connor realized he was still there. In the OR, where the flatline tone had been shut down and the nurses slowly began milling about, clearing up tools and rags and cotton balls. Puppies cried to his left, and a dead dog slowly being sewn closed lay to his right.

Numbly, he nodded. He moved his arms and legs, but he never felt them respond. Instead, he found himself in the quiet hall without any memory of moving, and a blur to the bright room that hadn’t been there when he entered. He felt something soft press into his leg, and he sank into it, allowing the warmth to seep into his body.

Dotty sat on his shoe, letting her head lay heavy on his shoulder as he stroked the entire length of her body. Again. And again. And again. Until his hand felt numb against her fur and his arm heavy from the repeated motion.

“You doing alright?” an upset but controlled voice came from behind.

“'Course,” Connor said, pretending the sniff had come from Dotty’s hair tickling his nose.

“Good,” Andre said, sinking into one of the chairs. “Good. Cuz I’m not.”

Dotty remained still as another hand joined in petting her, as Andre stroked her gently with the back of his knuckles. A beat passed. Nothing but the silence of two androids stroking the comforting, synthetic fur of a stable dog that wasn’t going anywhere for a long, long time.

“Yeah,” Andre breathed after a few minutes had passed. “This was one of those downsides I was talking about earlier. Plus sides are all getting a stubborn cat to finally take his medicine, give the family hamster a clean bill of health, delivering seven fat and healthy pups in a row.”

Connor nodded. “But the downsides.”

“The downsides are… down there,” Andre bobbed his head at no one in particular. “Losing one on the table like that, or having to put a pet down-”

“You do that here?” Connor asked, Dotty shifting harder into him as his voice grew in alarm. “You have to… kill-”

“Put down,” Andre corrected quickly, but softly. “Put to sleep. And yes, everyone here except for the secretaries and payroll have had to help put a pet down. It’s part of the job.”

Almost frantic, Connor shook head head. “I can’t- I could never do that.”

“It’s part of the job, and no part of any job can be skipped over,” Andre said, even as Connor continued to shake his head. “Look, I know the whole point of the program is to not let anyone tell you what to do and figure it out for yourself, but if you’d let me, a little advice can’t hurt.”

The head shaking stopped, and a quiet nod was hidden but not completely blocked out by Dotty’s body.

“Look, Connor,” Andre started slowly, “it’s great that you love animals - it’s literally the only thing every one of us here have in common - but loving animals isn’t enough to get you by here. There’s a large mental toll, and it has nothing to do with strength of body, will, or mind if you can’t handle that part of. It’s hard. Really hard, Connor.”

“I thought this would be a good place to start,” Connor said quietly. “The animals, the helping, and it’s not like I haven’t seen people injured or die.” As both a police detective and an android in the all too recent Revolution, he was all too familiar with death.

“Why do you think I had to try out more shadows after this one?” Andre asked. “It’s a calling to be here, but it takes time to know if you can answer that call. I still struggle, and days like today I wonder if I can handle another shift like this.”

“What keeps you coming back?”

The other android fell quiet, a silence that reminded Connor of when Nines was gathering his words. Andre reached out, laying a hand on the medical dog doubling as an emotional dog for the both of them. “No matter how crappy a day was, no matter what happened that shift, I always pass by some little dog in the waiting room like good old Dottie here, all happy and bright with health that reminds me of why I need to come back the next day.”

His stress lowered, but his seat still on the floor, Dotty retracted from her owner and sat evenly between the two androids. But her eyes were for Connor only. Her tongue lolled out as she panted contentedly, searching his face for any other sign his distress might peak again.

Dotty was here. She was healthy, and happy, her vest as bright as her eyes and the gloss in her coat reflected the glistening of her wet nose. She was alive. But, no matter how long he kept his hands on her sides to feel the gentle heave of her breath, he could see her stretched out on the operating table, her guts exposed to the air and the monitor flatlining.

He wanted to help. He loved animals. But there was no way he was coming back to the Detroit Animal Hospital and Veterinary Services again as an employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a much more depressing turn than I had hoped. I wanted to see Connor as a vet but the more I thought about it, I don’t think he’d want to be the one responsible for putting the animals down when it was needed. And I don’t blame ‘em I couldn’t do it either. :( 
> 
> I swear, the next chapter should be happy again! (Hopefully... could lose control of the mood again O_O). I'm not a vet so animal facts were quickly researched, and the rested BS'd. xD 
> 
> Please like/comment if you want, they mean a lot during a crappy year and give fuel to the author! XD Thanks for readings, hope you enjoyed! Finished writing at 3AM so there are probably grammar problems. :)


	7. Daycare and Teaching Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Children. That's it. xD Lots and lots of children.

Coming home to find the oldest of the RK brothers buried beneath almost 300 pounds of fur wasn’t as unusual at it should have been. Sumo crushing Connor’s lap, and Dotty either curled up at his side or around his ankles, the dogs had come to expect that their favorite android and person doubled as their favorite place to sleep in the evening.

What wasn’t normal was the death grip, pale flesh glitching away to reveal pearly white plastic, woven deep into Sumo’s thick fur or the occasional whines Dotty would comfort her owner with. And, as far as Hank knew, the underside of Sumo’s half-matted chin did not normally glow red.

Hank tossed his jacket on the hook. Nines was working late at the bakery, and Sixty was tangled up in a nasty case downtown. It was simply Hank, the dogs, and the android he assumed was buried beneath the fur and paws.

“Rough day?” Hank asked as he paused behind the couch, gauging the coming response. Everyday was a learning process, but Hank liked to think he was getting the hang of what each of his sons needed and preferred when it came to being upset. Nines liked a quiet hand and silent company, giving him space to think over his own problems and voice his concerns and emotions in his own pace. Sixty wanted to be left alone. Mainly. But he also liked to know that, while he was being grumpy or ticked off all on his own, his adoptive father and brothers were a mere two doors down in the living room if and when he needed them. He also liked corny little gifts thrown his way, a cup of coffee or a knick-knack for his desk to lighten the mood and change the conversation.

Connor, the tuft of brown hair beneath the fluff, was an enigma on a good day. Sometimes he needed total solitude and silence, other times he wanted someone to sit him down and tell him word for word what he needed to do. Gifts made him feel guilty, but praise was usually enough to bring him out of whatever funk he found himself in… depending on the type funk. Which was what Hank was attempting to gauge.

“You alive under there?” Hank nudged away Sumo’s ginormous head, earning himself a snort from the beast. Connor’s red light was more visible before he reburied himself under the dog. Dotty, more mature than her older counterpart, looked at Hank as expectantly as a dog could.

“I can’t help if ya don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Hank said. “Unless this is one of those times you need to be left alone?”

“I dunno,” came an extremely muffled reply, followed by a spitting noise and Sumo pushed off to the side. Connor pulled thick strands of dog hair from his tongue, scooching the St. Bernard onto the other half of the couch.

Hank took to his easy chair, distant enough but still allowing some closeness. “Well ya gotta tell me which one ya want or I’m gonna keep bugging you, and that’ll just annoy us both.”

The oldest android son began to stroke the biggest dog’s head, still grumbling his displeasure at being moved.

“It’s nothing,” Connor paused, shaking his head. “Or, it’s stupid. I… I don’t think this shadow program is working.”

“Kid, hate to sound calloused, but you’ve tried, what, three jobs?” Hank asked. “You’ve barely given this thing a chance. Did something happen today?”

Connor shrugged. His hand never left Sumo’s fluffy head. He changed the subject. “How do humans get their jobs?”

The lieutenant snorted. “We pick something we think we can do, go to hundreds of interviews until someone randomly picks us from a list of names, and then find out the work was nothing we expected but we’re stuck in it anyways. Or ya go to school for a degree, but the process is the same, ‘cept with more debt.”

“Oh,” Connor cringed. “I suppose the android way isn’t that bad…”

“But…” Hank goaded.

He shook his head. “But… it still has its downfalls.”

Staring Connor down wasn’t going to do anything to help him talk, so Hank busied himself as he pushed himself out of the easy chair and meandered to the kitchen. “Something happen today?” he asked as he popped open the fridge, craving something cold to drink. Those bastards had taken away most of his beer and replaced it with sodas - some of which were _sugar-free_. Ingrates.

On the couch, Connor’s fingers stilled. “I thought it would be easy to find a new job, and maybe I’d find something immediately, but I haven’t really felt “called” to anything I’ve tried yet. And then the one thing I really wanted to work out today… didn’t. At all.”

The sharp crack and fizzy hiss of a soda can - sugar _filled_ \- snapped open. “Where did you go today? You’re always talking about something or other I’m never sure where you go off to.”

“Detroit Animal Hospital,” Connor said. “I was shadowing as a veterinary assistant.”

“Hmm,” Hank hummed. “Not everything you thought it was gonna be, huh? What’d they have you do, express some glands or some gross shit?”

“They- what?” Connor’s LED spun yellow and his eyes fluttered as he searched the internet. The yellow flashed a _harsh_ red as results flooded his mind. “Hank, no! No, that’s disgusting, Hank!”

Hank laughed as Connor’s attention whipped to the dog stretching out over his lap and half the sofa, as if the furry beast’s entire existence suddenly disgusted him. The shock faded, and he hesitantly sunk his fingers back into his fur.

“Nothing that disgusting happened today,” Connor said. “First I helped the head veterinarian give a check up to a parrot that was half a century old. She was mean, but I liked that part. Afterwards, I was allowed to watch a surgery.”

“A dog?” Hank asked. Connor nodded. “What, you get woozy and pass out?”

“Of course not,” Connor scoffed, even as he felt Dotty side eye him. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled at first, blood in surgery is entirely different than blood at a crime scene, but the dog… she didn’t make it. They saved all the puppies but the mother dog died.”

“Oh,” Hank murmured in understanding. “Death’s different in surgery than in at a crime scene, too, huh?”

“I’ve never seen an animal die,” Connor said. “I knew, subconsciously, that they did and that working in an animal hospital you’d see an animal pass on at some point, but I’d never seen one die and I don’t understand why it’s affecting me so much. I’ve seen people die, androids… humans. When we worked together we’d be around dead bodies all the time, but it’s different when you’re trying to stop someone from dying and not simply there afterwards to figure out what happened.”

“I’ll bet,” Hank agreed.

Sumo shifted comfortably. “And then I was told that, if I worked there, not only might animals die because they’re sick or injured, but I’d have to put them down. I can’t do that, Hank, I can’t kill an animal like that.”

“Then don’t,” Hank said. “It sucks, and I know you’re disappointed that the animal hospital didn’t work out the way you wanted, but that’s why you’re testing things now.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Connor said, despite knowing no amount of good things would ever outweigh the guilt of having to put an animal to sleep. “I’d never seen a baby before, either. And today I saw seven.”

“We’re not getting a puppy, Connor.”

“But, Hank!” Connor exclaimed, making sure the dogs around him mirrored his puppy eyes. “They don’t have a mother anymore.”

“I’ve got three adult babies, two dogs,” Hank ticked off, “and I recently discovered all the fun things Niles has been keeping down in the basement.”

Well, there went the one dog per android per household plan Connor had. Thanks Nines. “Oh, we were wondering how long it’d take you to find that out.”

“I found a frog in my washing machine, Connor. A _frog_.”

“Nines likes to bring home the things he finds when he walks home.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” Hank huffed. “Last night when I confronted him he was trying to smuggle in a snake and three slimy-ass snails in his pockets.”

“Maybe if he had a puppy-”

“Not gonna happen.”

Connor slumped back against the couch. His LED had gone from a dull red to a normal blue, flickering with yellow as his mood lifted but worry still etched deep into his features.

Hank took a sip from his soda. “Something else bothering you, kid?”

He shrugged. “I thought I knew what I liked and what I could handle, but after today, I’m not sure what direction I should go in. Or if I should just give up now and go back to Rose’s farm. I can drive the tractor and Dotty can, I dunno,” he looked towards the little dog at his feet. “You wanna dig some holes?”

“You know I’ll support ya in whatever you want to do,” Hank said, quickly continuing as Connor took a breath, “ _Except_ hitman. You wanna go lick dirt - yeah, I heard about that - or milk goats for Jericho I’m all for it. But unless you’re one-hundred percent sure you want a pair of overalls for a uniform, maybe keep trying new things until you’re sure.”

“What should I try next, then?” Connor asked.

Hank shook his head. “I can’t tell ya that. But, as crappy as today was, it sounds like there were parts you liked. Why don’t you see if you can take the things you like and use that in choosing what to try next?”

Sound advice. Sound advice that Hank would later apologize for. Connor had taken him at his words, literally, taking the best part of working at the Detroit Animal Hospital and using that as the only defining feature in his next job shadow request meeting at Jericho in one of its many offices.  
Simon slowly lowered his documents to the table, “You want a job… working with baby animals?”

“I know it sounds goofy,” Connor said, “but while the animal hospital wasn’t for me, I’d never seen a baby before let alone a baby animal. It was really amazing. Is there a job where you do nothing but care for baby animals? Like cats, dogs, something similar to that. I know there are human nurses that work exclusively with infants.”

The blonde bit his lower lip. “Um, there’s nothing coming to mind that matches that description… exactly. Zookeepers sometimes care for newborn animals, but there aren’t many since most zoos keep android animals. And…” he caught the look on the other androids face, “That’s not anywhere close to what you hand in mind, was it?”

Connor shook his head. “Not quite.”

Tapping his finger against the large desk - covered in documents, and pamphlets, loose sheets of paper, and stack of notebooks - Simon made for one paper, then paused and went for a notebook, then hesitated. He shuffled a few electronic pads, leafed through another pamphlet, and rolled his neck.

“Alright, how willing are you to meet me halfway?” he asked.

Connor leaned back in his chair. “You know me, Simon, I’m as adaptable as I need to be.” The dog sitting sentinel by his side was visual enough of the fact.

Simon nodded, then dove inside the desk. He pulled out a single sheet of paper folded in half and tossed it across the desk to the other android. “Alright, so I’m fresh out of baby animal caretaker positions.”

Connor smirked as he scooped up the paper. “I had a feeling it was going to be a long shot.”

“But,” Simon continued, “if you can spread that love for little animals a _little_ further, this position opened up quite recently. Since the Revolution, the amount of android caretakers and teachers has dropped drastically. Whether that’s because that’s what we were originally built for so no one wants to do it, or if humans were not comfortable rehiring androids into their old positions, the jury’s still out. However, a local school has offered a rather unique position for anyone who wants to try.”

The paper rustled. “The students are both human children and YK models.”

Simon bobbed his head. “It’s still in its early phases, but already both human and android children have enrolled in all different age groups. The staff is as blended as the students, and it even has a daycare for those too young to go to school but still need to be watched. Now, I know it’s not animals, but-”

“I’ve never seen a human baby,” Connor mused. “And most of my interactions with children haven’t been the greatest, so it’d be nice to change that.”

The android on the other side of the cluttered desk paused from where he had begun to fill out a position application. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor cocked his head. His eyebrows lifted as understanding struck. “Oh, most kids I met were traumatized, or trouble makers, and I was a police officer. Not the greatest interactions when you’re holding a kid until someone can come pick them up, no matter the situation.”

Simon nodded in understanding, turning his attention back to the tablet as he hurriedly tapped out more information. It would have been faster simply to connect and dump the info into it, but Simon seemed to like to do things manually if the thousands of sheets of paper were anything to go by. Or he was simply ridiculously scatterbrained and forget he could do things simplified.

“Connor, I need your signature here. Only if you want to try out the role, there’s no pressure to try something you’re uncertain with,” Simon said even as he handed over the tablet.

Connor smiled, pressing his thumb against a specified area, which translated to a signature and identification number within second. “I want to try.”

“Good, good,” Simon said as he took back the electronic pad. His fingers drummed against it almost faster than it could register. “Cool, cool, gotta check this here, lemme make sure that looks good over here. Alright, no doubt, no doubt- oop, lemme specify you’re going to be accompanied.”

“I am?”

Simon raised an eyebrow. His gaze drifted towards the panting dog, merrily content to be doing good work all on her own - and largely unnecessary besides reminding her stubborn owner to take his pills.

“Oh, yeah, I suppose she’ll need a pass too,” Connor pat her head.

Simon tapped a few more things, finger drifting left to right and back again. The flesh tone on his thumb peeled back as he pressed it squarely in the center, then sighed satisfactorily. “Alright, they’ll be expecting you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

To an ex-cop, “bright and early” could have several meaning. “How early are we talking?”

“Seven? Classes don’t start until around eight-thirty, but the daycare opens at seven-thirty for drop-offs. Is that too early?”

“Not at all,” Connor said, relieved to cancel his 4AM alarms. “I’ll be there. Bright and early.”

\---

Another flash of lightning bolted across the air, flavoring it with an electric hum that Connor felt deep in his veins and made his chest ache. It was simply the cold, the unsettling feeling of the storm, as Dotty would warn him well in advance if something was truly wrong. Thunder rumbled.

“Good thing we took the taxi, hmm?” Connor scrubbed at the dalmatian’s ears. His attention turned towards the window as another both of lightening zipped by. “We wouldn’t want to be caught outside in this. Although, I’d take thunder over a snowstorm any day. You ever seen snow?”

Dotty did not respond. Typical Dotty. Connor still could not shake the fact that she might be fully aware of every word spoken around her, so he went out of his way to speak to her as he would any other person. To be fair, he’d do that even if she didn’t understand a thing and he sounded like an off-tune trumpet blatting noise in her face.

As more lighting flashed, the school in the distance was highlighted in wind and rain. People clutched their hats to their heads, or held up umbrellas and briefcases for some separation between themselves and the storm. From within the cab, it was impossible to tell who was an android and who was a human. They were all humanoid shapes darting towards the school, seeking shelter from the rain.

Clipping the little used leash to Dotty’s vest, he leaned back in the seat as a traffic light halted them a half-block from the school.

“What do you think, girl?” he asked. “Think this is the one? Teaching math and English and science, being called Mr. Connor… or, I suppose it’d be Mr. Anderson. Professor Anderson?”

The dalmatian sneezed as another rumble of thunder shook the air.

“You’re right, I think that’s for college teachers,” Connor said. The cab started up again. “Although, being a professor might be interesting.”

The cab stopped in front of the building, cutting down the space he’d have to run from the storm. It binged noisily to alert the passengers, and lifted its door unprompted. Rain splattered at his feet as he took the dog’s leash in his hand and stepped outside. Within seconds, he was soaked, a chill creeping down his spine and into his limbs and pump.

“Come on,” Connor tugged gently on the leash, forcing the reluctant dog to follow. Quickly, she became the one leading him, pulling at her leash towards the entrance.

“Hold it,” a voice said as Connor and Dotty hurried through the first set of doors into the school building. “Step over here, to the right.”

A male security officer waved them over, an android. He scanned those who entered, allowing them to pass undisturbed as they registered as the staff, known parents, and the few early morning infants and toddlers hurried along for daycare. It was unusual to see a PL600 in a security role, but as time went on, it became more and more usual to see unlikely faces in all sorts of roles - like an advanced military model dedicating his life to baked goods. An ID badge was clipped to his side, mostly obscured except for the first name of John.

“Good morning,” Connor said, trying to wipe the rain from his face and hands. He’d taken extra care to gel his hair smooth that morning, and already he could tell by the thickness of the water dripping down his neck that he’d be curly by the time he dried.

“Mornin’,” the security officer returned. “Don’t recall seeing you around here before. Don’t got a kid with you, and I haven’t gotten any new staff alerts.”

“I’m here to shadow, er, work as an assistant for the day,” Connor said. “Jericho sent me with some documents if you’d like to-”

A cell phone was shoved into his hands, and Connor quickly uploaded the paperwork he had been sent with. Wordlessly, John began to scroll, quickly taking in the information, and casting Connor with a side eye that was less and less suspicious the further he skimmed.

“Alright, that checks out,” he said. “They said something about the program last week, but I didn’t know they’d started it here already. There’s a lot of people who’d like to see us fail, and we can’t be too careful, especially with the kids.”

“I understand,” Connor confirmed. John motioned him towards a door, still not the hallway entrance door, but instead a small closet to the side. He clicked to Dotty, keeping her alert and glued to his side, out of anyone’s way.

“Stand here,” John directed Connor in front of a white wall with a small camera. “Gonna make you an ID real quick, then you can head in.”

The scanner tingled as it spread over his face, beeping once to have him face left and again to face right. A high functioning camera scanner was normal for a school to have, especially in a city as large as Detroit, but the old fashioned printer that chugged and cranked as it booted up to print out the ID was somewhat more out of date.

“Will Dotty need an ID as well? My dog,” he specified.

John smiled, his mouth quirking up only on the left side. “Nah, so long as you keep her leashed and by you she should be fine. Got her paperwork?”

Connor nodded. “In her vest.”

“She’s good, then. Besides,” John said. “I think she’s a little short to reach the camera.”

With a puff of smoke that smelled heavily of freshly melted laminating sheets, John popped the ID out of the printer and waved it around to cool it. He stuck a yellow lanyard through the top and handed it to Connor. “Round the neck or in a pocket is fine, just make sure the picture is visible at all time.”

Connor stuck the rope in his front pocket, letting the still-hot ID badge stick out. “Got it.”

John nodded, letting Connor out of the little room and holding the entryway door open for him. “Know where you’re going?”

“The daycare center,” Connor said confidently. “Uh, do you know-”

Quickly, the security guard pointed out the way with brief instructions and room numbers.

“Thanks.”

“Good luck today,” John said sincerely, turning back to checking on all the newcomers trickling in at a faster pace.

Connor gripped the leash tightly in his hands. Not because he needed to, he could drop the leash and Dotty would still be at his heel obediently following wherever he went. It gave him something to fiddle with. At his side, Dotty trotted to keep up, sniffing loudly as she took in hundreds of thousands of scents that even Connor - a forensic android - didn’t have access to.

The walls were an odd mix of plain white reflecting the crisp white light from the ceiling and the speckled white of the floor, and swirling multicolored hallways. The walls were still white, but they were coated lavishly with all sorts of decorations that seemed to correlate with different classes. The schoolrooms were dark and empty still, but the bursts of color in the hallway had visibly leaked into the classrooms. The third graders were a school of fish - with a Number Octopus smiling on one wall and another filled with Emotion Fish. Student names were written on different species, and pinned to a felt board labeled “Happy” and “Sad” and “Angry.” Cute, but not anatomically accurate. Sea creatures didn’t have faces like that.

Hurrying along, he passed the second grade Bee Hive hallway and the fourth grader’s space themed halls. Finally, Connor found the hallways the security guard had described to him. The colors were still noticeable, but were toned down into gentler shades of yellow, lavender, pink and blue. Large, colorful animal silhouettes decorated the walls and became denser the closer Connor came to the room he was searching for. There, between a giant pink giraffe that stretched from top to bottom of the door, and a purple monkey painted to hang off the other side, was the daycare room.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the leash and knocked on the open door frame. The response was immediate - a sharp, ear splitting cry screamed out from within. A human woman within the room hurried over towards a crib.

“I am so sorry,” Connor said. Already off to a great start. “I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

The woman dipped into the crib and scooped out a small bundle, which screamed furiously even as she began bouncing and turning towards the intruder.

“You’re the assistant coming in this morning?” she asked over the wailing.

Connor blinked, trying to find words over all the noise. Dotty squirmed nervously at his side. “Uh, yeah, I was sent by-”

“Name?”

“Connor. I’m Con-”

“Shh,”

Connor snapped shut, as still as if Dotty had ordered him to heel and not the other way around. The woman glanced towards him, scrunched up her forehead in confusion, and smirked.

“Hold on,” she said. She bounced the baby a few more times, hushing it gently. With a few quiet murmurs, soothing the screeching infant, the cries became subdued gasps and sniffles. Finally, even those trailed off and the woman turned back to the crib. Slowly, slower than Connor had ever seen a human move before, she lowered the bundle into the crib still bouncing and rocking her arms and body to mimic the movement the baby had felt while cradled to her chest. She shimmied, backing away from the crib, arms empty.

“Okay,” she sighed. She spoke in a loud whisper, “Sorry about that. I love kids but when babies cry my mind gets all one-track and overwhelmed and- ugh. You’re our Jericho shadow today, hmm?”

“I am. My name’s Connor. And, this is Dotty, she’ll be out of the way.”

The woman smiled. “I’m Sarah. Don’t worry, she looks like a good girl. Just keep an eye on those ears and tail - some of the more mobile ones get pretty grabby. Any questions before we push ya into this headfirst?”

Connor felt his eyes widen, although he schooled his features. Childcare couldn’t be any harder than police work. He’d had all sorts of things thrown at him, rocks, cans, bodily fluids, in addition to being shot at more times than he wished to count. Plus, the infamous taser. Children didn’t have tasers, therefore, easier.

“I, uh, don’t think so… Is that the only one in today?” he gestured towards the crib.

Sarah laughed. “Oh God, I wish. Nah, Toby’s one of our early birds. We have a few dozen children for the daycare program, but we have different rooms to help with different ages and crowd control. We’ve got two babies like Toby there, and then eight toddlers between one and two coming in later today.”

“There’s room for all of them in here?” Connor glanced around. The room was moderately sized, with a few playpens on the other side of the room, a row of high chairs, and two cubbies on two separate walls - one empty and one filled with age appropriate toys. Small circle tables dotted the furthest part of the room, with chairs ridiculously tiny Connor would have thought they were a joke.

“Most of them aren’t able to get around yet,” Sarah said. “Plenty of room in here, don’t you worry. So, Connor, how much childcare experience do you have?”

There was Emma… but did saving a child count as caring for them? He’d met the YK-model Alice a few times, but one of those times involved almost chasing her across a highway. That absolutely did not count as care. There’d been the runaways, the kid dealing “drugs” at his school that had ended up being fizzy candy, and then the little boy who got lost and absolutely had to see a policeman cuz that’s what his mommy had told him to do if he was lost and he would _only_ talk to a person in a police uniform - not a suit.

“Alright,” Sarah said after Connor realized a few seconds had slipped by without an answer. “Not much, then?”

“I’ve never seen a baby before,” Connor said. “Or, a baby human anyways.”

Holding a finger to her lips, Sarah motioned with her head. Feeling as if his joints might creak at any moment, breaking the silence, Connor crept closer. And closer. And closer to the crib, until he was able to look inside. A large mound of blankets and swaddlers left a fat lump in the middle.

“Here,” Sarah whispered, drawing back one of the blankets. A chubby face peeked out, button nose and eyes pinched shut. A single arm had worked its way out of the swaddlers during his earlier fit, and a meaty fist made up of miniaturized fingers gripped tightly at nothing. “What do ya think, hm? Cute?”

“Small,” Connor said as he found his voice. “How was he so loud when everything is so small? His lungs aren’t even that big.”

The daycare attendant smiled. “Can you believe he’s around four months old? Newborns are even smaller, and sometimes louder.”

A shuffle down the hall drew their attention from the sleeping baby, and Sarah hurried over before the newcomer could knock and wake up Toby again. A parent had arrived, lugging on their hip a sleepy toddler. The exchange from person to person was quick, and faintly, Connor overheard Sarah explaining the new assistant and why there was a dog in the room.

“Connor,” Sarah said, “Take Violet here and lay her down on the pillows until she wakes up. The others should be arriving soon and I’ll meet them at the door.”

Connor had held a child’s hand once, when he was leading him to a _real_ police officer. Beyond that, he’d never held one. At least Violet was nowhere near as small as Toby, but small enough. Delicately, he took the tired child from the attendant. Violet grumbled, lolling her head from shoulder to shoulder.

“Don’t worry, unless you squeeze full force, you’re not gonna break her,” Sarah laughed quietly.

Crossing the room, armful of child that felt like it definitely _would_ break if he moved the wrong way, Connor looked around for some place to lay her down. There were only the highchairs, the play pen, and the crib. The play pens were filled with loose toys all made of hard plastic, and the highchairs were a definite no. The crib seemed to be utilized only by the smallest children, like Toby. But, that only left the floor… There _were_ pillows on the floor, though.

After setting Violet down, and Sarah didn’t scold him for laying the child on the pillow on the floor, he decided to do something about Dotty. She was small, obedient, and absolutely a very good girl, but once ten children were in this room she could easily get underfoot. Or worse, injured by a curious hand yanking too hard on her artificial fur. Connor clicked for her, leading her to an empty corner by the cubbies.

“Is it alright if I unleash her?” Connor asked. “Only in the room, I promise she won’t wander into the halls.”

“Of course,” Sarah said before her attention was pulled away by another parent, an android guardian dropping off their sleeping infant child.

Unclipping Dotty’s lead, he neatly wound it up and stuffed it inside one of her vest pockets. He motioned for her to sit and lie down before giving her a quiet scratch before going back to help Sarah.

Rapidly, children began to turn in by ones and twos, handed over half asleep or quietly half awake. One by one Sarah would take them and hand them off to Connor, who neatly arranged them in the pillow corner. The infants occupied one crib each. As the morning came to a more normal hour, children began to grumble awake or cry for a bottle. Sarah had offered Connor the bottle and held Toby out to him, laughing at the panic in his wide eyes.

“Maybe for his next bottle, hm?” Sarah laughed. “I’ll get you to hold a baby before the day’s up, just you wait.”

Nine children in all had been dropped off, and for a moment, looked as if they would be the room’s only occupants. Until, the loud clicking of heels raced down the hall followed by the uprarious laughter of a toddler completely thrilled.

A woman, her makeup half done and her hair in a quick ponytail, stuck her head in the room, panting heavily with a violently blonde child on her hip who was quickly squirming to the floor. “Sarah! Sarah, I am so sorry. I thought we were about to be on time today, and things were going so well until I realized they were a little too quiet, you know?”

“Oh, boy,” Sarah said. She knelt in front of the boy, pinching his cheek.“What’d Levi get up to now, hmm?” She asked the mother as if she were talking to the boy.

Levi’s mother groaned loudly, “He’d filled the whole toilet with my shampoo. Of course, he couldn’t use that dollar stuff his dad uses. It had to be my twelve-dollar bottle I save for big meetings and stuff. It looked like the toilet had rabies.”

Sarah laughed again, taking Levi’s hand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Parker, we’ll keep him busy and out of trouble for ya. I think we bought a whole box of magic, mess-free markers just for today, isn’t that right, Levi?”

The boy giggled, rocking on the balls of his feet as he eagerly looked around at his bed-headed peers slowly waking up. The boy looked towards Connor, and he swore a flash of lightning crashed outside as soon as their eyes met.

Sarah closed the door, locking them in with the children.

“Alrighty,” Sarah said, “That’s our bunch for today. I wanna warn you in advance, sometimes they get a little fussy in the morning. If you’ll go over to the fridge and get out the breakfast cups? We’ve got fruit cups and juice as well as a sippy cup of thirium for Bee.”

“I hadn’t noticed one of the children was android,” Connor said as he busied himself. “Most of the YKs were made to resemble much older human children. Younger elementary ages are rare, and babies rarer still.”

“Bee’s a special girl,” Sarah smiled as she went around rousing the toddlers. A few cried, scrubbing their eyes and whining as they were forced to sit up. Some absolutely refused, hugging pillows and crying as if their hearts had been broken and a kind woman hadn’t woken them up with the promise of grape juice and strawberries.

“Set those around the table, but hold on to the sippy cup until Bee’s ready for it,” Sarah directed. “The stragglers will make their way over when their ready.”

“Some of them act like my one brother when we have to wake him up too early,” Connor commented. The whining was loud, but thankfully nowhere near as ear-shattering as Toby,

Sarah laughed - she seemed to find most things funny. “Younger brother?”

“Not quite,” Connor replied as he plopped little cups full of apples, oranges, and berries around the tables. “He’s the same model as myself.”

“Mm,” Sarah said, half in reply and half to the baby she was scooping puree into its mouth. “How old are you, anyways, out of curiosity? It’s always hard to tell since androids can look old but be super young, and we have some eight year olds who are almost fifteen.”

A little hand tugged at Connor’s pant leg, holding up a fork covered in plastic. He unwrapped it and handed back the utensil. “I believe I was made to look between twenty-five and thirty.”

“Nah, I figured that,” Sarah replied, scraping purple goop off the baby’s lip and popping it back in their mouth. “But, like, how long have you been online. Awake? I’m not sure what the word is… Oh God, is that super rude to ask? Dallas didn’t mind the question - he’s the other assistant who comes in the afternoon - but if he was just being polite-”

“No, it’s fine,” Connor cut off the rambling woman. “I’m simply worried that if I told you, you’d try to fit me in one of those high chairs.”

Sarah laughed again. Soon, they settled into an easy rhythm. Connor found the human woman had not been entirely truthful when she said most of the children couldn’t get around on their own. They could, they absolutely could, and they were everywhere. They simply were not good at getting places, and were noisy in their steps and in grabbing things off the cubbies and banging them inside the play pens.

Breakfast eaten and cleaned up, and the wonderful experience of how diapers were changed under his belt, early childcare didn’t seem to be a horrible job at all. Interesting, absolutely fast pace, but not so fast that it left him winded or in pain. Plus, it was activity without the threat of being murdered or pushed off a roof. Perfectly manageable, until-

“DOG!”

A single war cry followed by an equally harsh yelp.

“Levi!” Sarah exclaimed. “Oh shit, I mean crap, er, _shoot_.”

Connor reached the corner in which Dotty had lain, completely forgotten about and content to watch the mystery that was human children in herds until one had spied her bright white tail and yanked.

“Is she okay?” Sarah asked, taking Levi’s hand and pulling him back. “Levi, what have I told you about being gentle? We’re supposed to be gentle so we don’t hurt others.”

“Didn’ hurt,” said the little boy, barely perturbed at the scold, “I wanted’ta pet the dog. Didn’ hurt!”

“You made the doggy cry,” Sarah said. “People cry when they’re sad or hurt, Levi. We don’t want to make people sad or hurt, do we?”

Levi pinched up his face, thoughtful. “Not person. Tha’s a dog.”

“We don’t want to make doggies sad or hurt, either.”

Dotty whimpered as Connor stroked her head, checking her over for any hidden or visible injury. Finding none, he scratched her again. “She’s okay. Sometimes she’s a little dramatic, especially when she’s been ignored so long. She’s not hurt.”

“Not hurt!” Levi parroted, much louder. “Not hurt! Pet the dog now!”

Levi squawked indignantly as Sarah’s gentle yet firm hand stayed on his, keeping him from shooting forward and petting the dalmatian. “Levi, we have to ask other people before we can touch their things. See her clothes? That means you have to ask because she’s extra special.”

Over-simplified, but Connor understood that a boy as hyper and one-track minded as Levi wouldn’t sit still long enough to understand anything more. Plus, he was two. Two year old saw dog, two year old wanted to pet dog. Two year old saw dog in bright blue vest, that _especially_ made them want to pet the dog even more.

“Can I pet the dog?” Levi asked. “Please? Please can I pet? I’ll be good. Uh… gentle. Please? Please can I pet-”

“Of course,” Connor said, “But not too long. Her name’s Dotty, and she likes it best when you pet her r-i-ight here behind her ears.”

“Gentle,” Sarah reminded as she released the platinum blonde hellion.

The boy shot forward like a rocket, scratching at ears and snout and back and whatever part of her belly he could reach. Of course, the excitement from the corner drew the attention of the more mobile human and android toddlers, and those who could navigate over did so with great interest. Pretty soon every available hand was reaching out, petting the dog over frequent reminders of _no yanking, no pulling ears,_ and _we don’t poke doggies in their nose!_

A half dozen toddler petting the quiet dalmatian lasted a good forty-five seconds before Dotty decided she had had enough. Hopping to her feet, she shook off the sticky hands clinging to her fur and staining it pink with strawberry residue. Weaving quickly through the small sea of children, Dotty hurried behind Connor and sat down, looking displeased at the audience that swiveled around.

Connor smirked sheepishly. “I figured she’d get fed up pretty quickly. She knows she’s not supposed to be getting this much attention.”

Dotty barked loudly as the first of the toddling ocean found her, stepping back to avoid the sticky fingers. Connor snapped to silence her, and the dog huffed in return.

“Okay, everyone!” Sarah said loudly. But, in the presence of a dog - and a dog that was actively avoiding them - the toddlers couldn’t have cared less than if Santa Clause himself entered the room and called them each by name. Sarah clapped loudly, getting the attention of _everyone_ in the room as she loudly said, “One, two, three, eyes on me!”

As if a switch had been flipped, the children paused in their merry shrieks of chase-the-dog and turned towards the daycare attendant.

“Alright, everyone, I think it’s time we all settled down. I want all of you to pick out one toy from the cubbies and sit down to play quietly. We’ll have lunchtime soon, and then Dallas will be here with a new movie.”

Like ants when a leaf blew into their path, the children scattered in every direction and ran to collect their favorite toys. All but Levi, who took an extra sharp look with a warning eye before he darted off with a mischievous giggle.

“I am so sorry about that,” Sarah said once the noise had settled and the children had sat down with their toys. “I’d say it usually not that crazy, but kids get so excited over everything at this age.”

Gently running a hand over the dog’s head, Connor soothed the disgruntled Dotty. “It’s alright, I think the only one really upset here is Dotty. She’s not used to small children, and she always has her sensors going to scan for me. I didn’t consider it before, but she must have been overwhelmed when so many little kids crowded her sensors and she couldn’t read me as well. She’ll be alright now.”

Sarah hummed. “Do you want to take her outside? It’s kinda crappy out, but it could give her some time to calm down. She still looks a little out of it.”

“Dotty’s an android dog, so she’d let me know if she had to go outside,” Connor explained. “I might take her to the restroom to clean some of the… stuff out of her fur, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, of course,” Sarah agreed. “No worries, Dallas should be here soon and then I think you were supposed to be moving up to one of the graded classes.”

Connor nodded in agreement. Quickly, he took the lead out of Dotty’s vest and clipped it on. The dog drew attention again as she moved across the room, but she refused to make either eye contact or veer from Connor’s side as he led her from the room and down the hall. They’d passed a restroom on their way in, so he made short work of finding it again and taking her inside. As soon as Connor had pulled out a handful of paper towels and wet them, Dotty slumped to her rear in an exhausted seat.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Connor apologized sincerely as he gently scrubbed strawberries and grape juice stains from her fur. “That was one-hundred percent on me. I wasn’t thinking. Or, well, I don’t know kids any better than you do. I didn’t know they’d get so wild so quickly.”

She shifted closer, leaning into his touch as he gently wiped away a more obvious chunk of fruit. They had cleaned up the breakfast cups and thrown away what wasn’t eaten, how had they managed to stay so dirty despite the clean up and Sarah wiping down their hands and faces?

“You ever gonna forgive me for this?” Connor asked, making sure all the purple and pink stains were out of her fur before scanning her yanked tail again. Nothing dislocated. “Alright, how ‘bout this? I’ll cross daycare attendant off the list.” He mimed striking it off in the air. “See? Completely gone. I don’t think it was for me, anyways. Too many little kids, and I’d never want a job that could hurt or scare you.”

Dotty huffed playfully, shaking her ears back into place. Connor pat her head, straightened her vest, and tossed away the paper towels.

“I promise, if I’m going to work with kids, they will definitely be old enough to sit at a desk,” Connor said both to himself and the dog. “But… until the other assistant shows up, we are going to have to go back. You can hide in a corner, if you’d like, or stick by me the whole time.”

Returning to the room, Dotty appeared to choose the later. She remained fused to her owner’s side, barking warnings when curious hands got too close to her fur or Levi so much as looked at her. Clearly, even if Connor had loved breaking up fights between children who both understood that they wanted the same toy but could not understand the reasoning behind why they both could not have it at the same time, or if he enjoyed constantly wiping up spills or changing diapers, the fact that Dotty had to be with him nixed the job entirely. The children were simply too little to understand that they couldn’t grab and poke a working dog.

He did get to hold a baby, and lasted about thirty seconds awkwardly holding his arms at improper angles before Sarah took pity on him and took the infant back. It was small, feeble, much too easily breakable, and the crying certainly didn’t help.

Dallas soon arrived, relieving Connor and Dotty of under-the-age-of-three duty. Good-byes and thank yous were brief, as the dalmatian began getting antsy at the promise of freedom. Connor opened the door, Levi spared them one final look, and Dotty darted into the hallway as far as her leash would allow.

They’d made it five steps into the hallway when she stopped, dead in her tracks, forcing Connor to a halt.

“You don’t have to do this every time,” Connor grumbled as he silenced his own alarm. “I get the same alerts you do.”

Dotty booped him. Twice. Then barked. She never barked unless as a warning, but she was irritated enough with how their morning had gone that she was not in the mood for anything else to mess with her work.

Thankfully, it was the lunch hour, so while there were several people and children in the halls they were dominantly all heading for one place - the cafeteria. Heading in the opposite direction gave them some semblance of privacy, allowing Connor to gulp down a quick pill, a sip of water, and snag one of those granola bars the RK brothers enjoyed but Hank couldn’t stand. Natural, organic, and sweetened only by the natural sugars in the fruits it was made out of, Hank refused to touch something that threatened to clear his arteries simply by looking at it.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Connor said over a mouthful of granola bar, making sure to save a small piece for Dotty, “we’ll be working with fifth graders next. I think that’s around… ten years old. We probably should head over now, before they get back from lunch.”

The fifth graders were, apparently, a learning garden. Beautiful paper flowers of every hue and color lined the hallway. Hand-painted ivy seemed to realistically creep around the door frame, foamy green buds and delicate pink flowers speckling here and there. Through the open doorway, more flowers and plants of all kinds filled the room - both painted on the wall and grown in boxes on the windowsill. The plants by the window were labeled with both the common and Latin names, most likely a remnant of science and biology class. Pea plants of several colors were connected to graphs and notes in several types of handwriting showing a recent study in mendelian genetics. The room was as bright as it could be with the storm brewing on outside, but it was absolutely cheerful.

“Looks better already, hm?” Connor nudged Dotty’s paw with his foot.

“Ah-hem,” a sharp voice startled Connor, and he had to focus to avoid snapping into military attention. A short woman had materialized before him, barely higher than his chest, with rectangular glasses slipping down her nose and dark hair tied up in a severe bun. Her clothes were professional shades of brown and grey, and jet black kitten heels gave her the harsh appearance of a stickler librarian bred with a strict CEO. “Can I help you?”

“I-I,” Connor cleared his throat. He suddenly felt much smaller than even the dalmatian panting contentedly at his heel. “I’m looking for the fifth grade classroom.”

The woman stared him down, her steely gaze unwavering as Connor shifted from heel to heel. He had thought he was dressed alright, professional but not detective-level so. Hank had said he didn’t need the tie. Hank was wrong. He absolutely needed the tie, because clearly he was under dressed. And underprepared.

“I’m here to shadow,” Connor explained, fumbling for the yellow rope in his pocket his ID swung from. “The Jericho program that lets androids-”

“I know what it is,” the woman said. Her unimpressed look remained unchanged as the ID slipped to the floor as the android fumbled. “I had assumed you’d be earlier.”

“I would have,” Connor said quickly, too quickly. “Erm, I mean, I was on my way but I ran into a problem with…” he cast a glance towards the Dotty. Then startled, “Oh, I didn’t mean she was the problem. She’s never a problem. Some of the kids at the daycare got a little… handsy, and I had to clean her up before-”

The woman inhaled, a sharp noise through her nostrils. Barely a breath, and Connor felt himself clam up tighter than he had even under Amanda’s thumb. “I wasn’t told there’d be a dog.”

“Simon filled out the paperwork,” Connor promised. “It should have been in the document they sent-”

“I’m allergic to dogs,” she said shortly, once again cutting him off. “And I don’t like them, regardless.”

Whatever excuses Connor had been making in his mind on the short woman’s behalf flew out the window. Strict or not, no one insulted his dog in any capacity.

“Dotty is an android dog, she doesn’t shed or create allergens,” Connor said with a lift to his chest. “Besides, she’s my medical alert dog, and she has to stay with me at all times.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I’m simply letting you know. I don’t like dogs. Name?”

“I said her name’s Dotty-”

“ _Your_ name.”

Oops. “Connor…. Anderson? Connor Anderson,” he tried a few different times, uncertain why she wasn’t responding or what answer she was looking for.

The woman hummed again. “Perhaps I’d know that if you wore your badge in the correct place.” Her expression didn’t change as Connor whipped the ropey yellow lanyard over his neck. “My name is Joanna Weiss. You will refer to me by Ms Weiss and Ms Weiss only.”

“Understood,” Connor caught himself mere second before he sarcastically saluted the short woman.

Ms Weiss turned without another word, returning to her desk. Uncertain, Connor followed. The classroom was more beautiful on the inside, with pink and purple and blue hydrangeas painted onto pigmented paper and taped to the wall unseen from the doorway. Upon closer inspection, math formulas were printed into the petals in perfect Cyberlife Sans font. No English or humanities or history books or decor were anywhere to be seen, most likely in another classroom in the hall.

“There is a chair there in which you can use until I call upon you,” Ms Weiss pointed towards a tall stool a few feet away from her desk, before the rain-spattered window. “If you have a question, you can either raise your hand like any one of my students or wait until the end of class, in which we will review.”

“Will there be a quiz?” Connor snarked, unable to stop himself.

Ms Weiss considered him a moment before opening a drawer in her desk. Connor wholeheartedly believed she was about to pull out a long ruler, and ask him to hold out his hands. Instead she pulled out a manual and textbook and said, “Perhaps there should be, now. You will hold onto these. They are yours until the end of class.”

“I’m… not a student,” Connor said slowly.

“Teachers manual, textbook to follow along with the student’s oral reading segment,” Ms Weiss said. “I have the curricula memorized.”

She had… the entire textbook and guide memorized? There was Cyberlife Sans printed on the walls, and if Connor looked carefully, the cut-out flowers were trimmed with a neat perfection unable to be captured by even the steadiest of human hands. Ms Weiss had decorated the classroom. More than that, Ms Weiss-

“You’re an android,” Connor blurted, setting the books down on the chair. “Aren’t you?”

The woman - absolutely an android - refused to respond. Instead, she glared at the dog and sniffed. Wait, was it even possible for her to have allergies? “How close does she need to be to you?”

Dotty was content and able to monitor him from a distance, so long as she wasn’t overwhelmed. She would be happy to sit in a corner and doze. “Close,” Connor decided on. “Preferably right at my side.”

Ms Weiss nodded, clearly displeased but not about to argue. “We’re covering lesson eighteen today. You may skim the material before the students return from lunch in eleven minutes.”

Connor took to his extra-tall stool, making sure to unclip Dotty’s leash before taking a seat and cracking open the spine of the physical books he had been given. Holding them was awkward, he was too far away from the desk to set one down, and the window ledge he was in front of was equally out of reach. Setting the textbook in his lap, the thick science book threatened to slip from the odd angle the stool forced him to sit at.

The guide, while new, was rather self-explanatory. Questions to ask the students, important facts to write on the electronic white board, pages covered, and homework assignments to hand out. Nothing too difficult to keep track of. Connor found himself distracted as his gaze drifted towards the dark dreariness of the outdoors, and a small bolt of lightening zipped across the grey sky.

“Is there a problem?” Ms Weiss sharp voice cut through his haze. “Something interesting out there, or a question you’re contemplating?”

“I’m not you’re student,” Connor huffed, slapping shut the book. The second almost slipped away again.

“A good teacher knows their material,” Weiss said. “They are prepared and show no sign of weakness.”

Connor snorted, “I was a police detective. I think I know a thing or two about being prepared.”

“We’ll see,” she said as a sharp ring of a bell flooded the halls. The ringing hadn’t been near the daycare, so it must have served as a reminder only for the older children. Within seconds, the halls outside the door were filled with hoards of children of all ages and heights, talking and laughing and screeching and running towards their classrooms. Every so often, one or two would break off and slip into the garden classroom for science and math.

The class was small, roughly around fifteen desks, but only fourteen students occupied them. The halls quieted, allowing the sound of one set of footsteps to echo loudly in a frantic run. A ten year old boy zipped into the room, panting heavily.

“I’m not late,” he started with a grin, right as the bell rang a second time.

“Take your seat, Zack,” Ms Weiss stated. Her voice was still cold and strict, but it had lost the sharpness that Connor had been subjected to. “Settle. Class, we will have a teaching assistant for the rest of this class. This is Mr. Anderson.”

“Please, Connor is fine,” he started.

“ _Mr._ Anderson,” Ms Weiss stressed firmly.

Connor’s eyes widened, and he spared a helpless look towards the closest of the students near him. She giggled. Connor nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not a ma’am,” Ms Weiss corrected. “Now, I expect all of you to treat Mr. Anderson with the same respect that you give me. He is not the principal checking in, so you needn’t be on your best behavior, simply your normal behavior. Do I make myself clear?” A room full of heads bobbed. “Any questions before I begin our lesson?”

Immediately, a hand shot up in the back of the room. A freckle-faced girl with messy space buns eagerly zoomed her attention in on the spotted dog by Connor’s side, who had earned herself no shortage of interested looks. “What’s with the dog?”

“Dotty is my medical alert dog,” Connor said. He had thought he was doing better with the questions and looks he got when people noticed a vested animal trailing behind him, but under the scrutinous gaze of middle schoolers, he felt his confidence waiver. “She gets to go wherever I go.”

Space buns nodded. “Cool. Can I pet her?”

“Of course-”

“Absolutely not,” Ms Weiss cut in sharply.

Connor wasn’t certain what the protocol with contradicting a teacher in front of her class was. A superior was never supposed to be disrespected before the group he led, and as much as Connor was beginning to severely dislike the strict teacher, he was not about to go and undermine her before her class.

“You’re right,” Connor tried, “it might be disruptive now. Maybe after the lesson is over, she can-”

“No,” Weiss repeated, and space buns - as well as several other students - slumped in their seat. “You shouldn’t let people do what they want with her. She is a working animal, and the children are old enough to control their impulses,” Her attention turned to the children, “Mr. Anderson’s dog must focus on her work, and distracting a working dog is both rude and potentially dangerous. Just as we ask to pet a stranger’s animal in public, we must also make it a rule to never pet or ask to pet a working animal.”

Another hand went up. “So we shouldn’t ask to pet a dog that wears clothes like that?”

“Vest,” Ms Weiss replied. “And that is correct. Vests come in all different colors, but the message is the same. They are a working animal, and must be left to their job.”

A third hand shot into the air, a young boy this time. “What do ya have to do to get a dog like that?”

Eyebrows furrowed, Connor tilted his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“What’s wrong with ya that you need a dog like that,” the boy clarified without hesitation.

“Uhh…” He wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say, especially before Ms Weiss. It might not be child friendly to announce that he was violently electrocuted in the heart.

“Just as we have the self-control to control out bodies,” Ms Weiss came to the rescue, “we must also have the self-control over our words to decide what is and is not rude to ask.”

The boy ducked his head, dimpling behind a sheepish grin and a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Now,” Ms Weiss rose from her chair and took up a stylus from the white board. “That is enough for questions. Each of you, take out your science text and a spare sheet of paper. The page numbers for today are forty-seven through sixty. We’ll start where we left off last time, on how different plants and fungus germinate and breed in different ways, and-”

Once off, Ms Weiss proved that while her strong points were not in deep empathy, she absolutely excelled at teaching. Engaging, swift but ensuring that she took the time for every student to understand the information before moving on, the classroom was her element. Somehow, she managed to work Connor into her work, calling on him to emphasize her points with a quick, _Mr. Anderson, what can you tell us about how fungi decompose organic material?_ and _Mr. Anderson, using PEMDAS, how would you solve the fourth problem on the board? Show your work, please._

Connor handed out pop quizzes and collected work pages in which he was instructed to begin grading while Weiss gave an oral arithmetic drill to the groaning students. Better still, she had allowed Connor to scoot his stool closer to the desk and use the corner as a work station. He was still hunched oddly, but the task was immensely easier.

Grading was actually rather interesting work, although Connor felt he would be the type of person to invest in a set of sarcastic stickers and stick one on each student’s page. Seeing a student understand and get a good grade felt thrilling, although he hadn’t had a hand in the material covered, and the disappointment in seeing another page get filled with red marks presented the future challenge of figuring out how to help that student understand. Plus, it felt a little like gambling, the rush of a student getting ten out of ten as exhilarating as pulling a lever and getting all sevens.

“Dotty,” Connor his quietly as the dog bumped against him. “Shh, you’re going to get us in trouble.”

Dotty bumped him a second time, pressing her nose into his calf and holding. Then, she pawed him, woofing under her breath.

“Shh,” Connor waved her off. He started as Dotty barked, much louder than before, and pawed him hard enough to clang the stool.

“Mr. Anderson,” Ms Weiss had paused in her quiz, and was looking at him severely but analytically. He could feel the eyes of the students boring into him. “You may step in the hallway if necessary.”

Connor nodded, snapping for Dotty to heel as he stood. The dog yipped at him again, forcing him to move faster before she caused a louder disruption. He felt the dozens of eyes follow him all the way out the door, until he clicked it shut behind and stepped out of view.

Dotty barked at him again.

“Shh,” Connor shushed. “There’s other classes going on. What’s bugging ya, girl?”

She pawed his ankle until he crouched, and she pressed her nose into the palm of his hand.

“I swear, if you have to go outside now,” Connor said. He felt her begin to scan. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, I feel fine. You make sure I take all the meds on time. Everything’s fine.”

The dog snorted as she finished scanning, clearly unhappy with her results. Or, lack of, as Connor waited for a detail report and received none.

“See?” he said. “Can we get back in and keep quiet the rest of the day?”

Instead, Dotty pawed him again, hopping up on his crouched knees with her front paws. She pressed her nose against his shirt covered chest, the black over her snoot dissolving as she scanned harder than before. Connor waited patiently, both worried and annoyed. He felt fine. No pain, no dizziness, he hadn’t even had spots in his vision when he jumped up from the stool.

“Anything?” he asked as the dog pulled back, her nose regaining its color. No response, and more importantly, no report. “Alright. So you didn’t find anything. You’re a good girl,” he scratched behind her ears with one hand and dove into his pocket with the other, producing a soft treat. “Good job, Dotty, you did good. I’d rather you be overprotective than lazy like Sumo, hmm?”

The dog hesitated before the treat. She pawed at him again, accepting it only after Connor continued to present it. Her tongue was slow and gentle, making sure to lap up every crumb.

“Alright, back to school,” he said as he pushed open the door and let Dotty take the lead. He gave the students and strict teacher a quick smile as they turned towards him, alleviating their concern or curiosity, and returned to grading the worksheets.

Thankfully, the rest of the shadow and school day went on as if it were a normal day and Connor was nothing more than their usual TA. Normal in every way, including the part in which the children stood and read a few paragraphs from the text, and the boy who was late made a great show of pronouncing the word _organism_ as _orgasm_ every. damn. time. Then the next student to read began by asking what an orgasm was.

Connor went home that evening, somehow with a stack of homework he’d never be able to turn in (unless he accepted a teaching position, Ms Weiss had stated) and a quiz he had aced, with a lighter air to his step and a cheerier mindset. The weather was still shit, and both Hank and Sixty were crabby from working in the rain, but Connor’s day at work had both been enjoyable, educational, insightful, and fun.

Daycare absolutely was not for him, but he enjoyed the teaching aspect. He enjoyed it a lot more than he had veterinary assistant, and a smidgen more than farming.

“Looks like things went well,” Hank commented over a can of sugar-free cola he groused over. He teased, “Learn anything at school today?”

Connor nodded. Dotty was released from her vest and the leash hung up besides the assortment of coats and jackets by the front door. “I think so.”

“And?”

Connor thought for a moment. “And… I’ve decided, I am _never_ going to have children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh… what’s got Dotty worried? Was it the storm, or the toddlers that had messed with her sensors? Or something more?
> 
> So maybe these are getting a little long, I think this was… over 20 pages done in 2 days, but it’s relaxing. Especially after a really shitty week it feels good to let Connor have some fluff… and a taste of angst in the near future. I’m not writing with a number goal in mind - I’m curious to see what the end tally will be xD
> 
> Please like and comment if you enjoyed! A writer’s bread and butter! :D Thanks for reading this far and I hope you enjoy! As always, job suggestions are always appreciated but might take awhile to get to since I have a growing list of my own getting tweaked every day. :D


	8. Receptionist and Office Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Cruel sibling arguments concerning injury/disability, medical emergency.

“Alright, Nines, you’ve been recruited.”

The taller android blinked sleepily from the couch. The television cast an assortment of shades over his snug body, buried deep beneath a fuzzy blanket with a pillow squished in his lap for extra comfort.

“Yes, you have to,” Connor answered. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it’d really make me happy if you did. I’d _really_ appreciate it, Nines.”

Nines blinked again. Not a muscle in his frame twitched, although he seemed to sink deeper into the sofa without moving. Connor beamed.

“I’ll be right back!”

He darted off so fast he left Dotty behind, who looked at the younger android with the same dead-eyed stare he met her with. She blinked. He blinked back. Connor zipped back into the room with two tablets and an assortment of papers.

“Ya know, I keep telling Simon there are digital versions of everything he wants to give me to review, but he’ll send maybe twenty percent electronically and all the rest through paper,” Connor chattered as he plopped himself on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Papers spilled from his arms and onto the table, a few fluttering to the floor, and a tablet thunked to the wooden surface. The second was tossed into Nines’ blanket-wrapped lap.

Nines shifted, a hand snaking out barely far enough to graze the tablet and snatch it back into the warm confines of his blanket. “What’s all this for?”

“Shadow hunting.”

Nines groaned. “Connor, it’s Saturday. I’d rather watch a movie.”

“We can still do that,” Connor said. “Please, Nines, there’s no one else who can help me with this and I don’t know what to try next.”

“What about Dad?” Nines asked, even as he poked the switch on his tablet.

“He’s banned me from using the words “shadow,” “program,” and “career” in his presence, and especially all in the same sentence. Unless I was telling him I made my decision. Said I was talking about it too much,” Connor muttered. Without looking, he reached out as Dotty neared from the side and plopped down on her stomach. She sighed heavily, content.

“You do,” Nines rumbled. “Talk about it a lot.”

“I don’t mean to, I just get excited,” Connor huffed as he pulled up one of the many, many, many pamphlet that seemed to surround his life daily. “There’s simply so much opportunity, and so many options, it feels amazing seeing what’s out there and what I can do. Even with limitations, there’s an endless amount of jobs and… I keep having such a hard time narrowing them down.”

Nines smirked. “And you want me to help narrow it down?”

“I want to have something for Simon by tomorrow, but I have a whole list of my own and then Simon posted a whole board of new careers as well as all these pamphlets I forgot to go through last week. Hank won’t listen, and I’m not even going to bother asking Sixty. You’re my last hope.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully. He flicked the screen of the tablet. “That gives me an idea.”

“What?” Connor perked up eagerly.

He slumped forward as Nines’ LED spun yellow as he mentally switched the television to one of the many _Star Wars_ movies he had watched multiple times before. “You’re a jerk.”

Shifting the blanket to his shoulders, Nines groaned as loudly as Hank did the few times he had to wake up before six A.M, sinking to his knees besides the coffee table. He nearly clipped Dotty’s tail with his long, still a sensitive area for her mentally, and she whined until soothed with pets.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Anywhere,” Connor gestured widely towards the chaos before him. “Grab something and get started.”

With gentle movements, Nines picked up a few of the fallen pamphlets. Anything he deemed to violent, too excitable, too dangerous, or too energetic he tossed aside without comment.

“Oh, this looks interesting,” Connor said. “There’s an opportunity to work as an electrician. I think they climb electrical poles and fixes wires and-”

“Physical exertion. And risk of electrocution,” Nines shot down without looking up. The pamphlet fluttered to the ground as Connor tossed it aside.

Connor grabbed another. “Contractor. This one specializes in building houses. That could be interesting, lot of little jobs-”

“That all require large amounts of manual labor.”

“I don’t want to be sitting around all day glued to a phone or computer,” Connor said.

Nines hummed. “Here. Accountant.”

“Nines, that is _literally_ being glued to a computer. And a desk.”

“It might be nice,” Nines said. “A quiet, climate controlled office. Dotty can have a bed beneath the desk. Numbers are exciting, but it’s not so physically exhausting that you’ll - _Connor_.”

The older android had slumped forward, snoring loudly. He snickered as Nines shoved him, lightly, a disgruntled look on his face. Riffling around, he whipped out another sheet of wrinkled paper and shoved it into his brother’s hands.

“Here,” Nines said. “Why not roughnecking? Drilling for oil, outdoors, hard work, I’m sure it’ll take a full hour before your heart explodes.”

“Nines-”

“Or, here, you liked contracting, why not construction work? The hard hat will be the only safety measure you need to worry about, and I’m sure there’s plenty of room for a dog balancing on a beam.”

“I’ve clearly upset you.”

Nines grabbed another paper: landscaping, “Why would I be upset? You’re only disregarding-”

“I’m not,” Connor cut in, voice sharp enough to raise even Dotty’s head as she shimmied closer to press a nose against his knee. “I’m not disregarding anything. But, Nines, you know me. I don’t want to do something stupid but I can’t live my life chained to a desk anymore than I can… chase someone over rooftops anymore.” He set a hand on Dotty’s head as her nose took on a black fleshy appearance. “I’m… confused. It’s hard to find a medium between “physically working yourself into the ground” and “not moving for eight hours.”

“You’ll find something…”

“Yeah,” Connor said. “All these opportunities and ninety percent of them I can’t do, or would rather die than do.”

Nines fell quiet. Papers shuffled noisily in his hands, but he didn’t read a word.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nines,” Connor said.

Nines nodded. He shuffled another paper. He glanced up as papers began to rustle louder, and Connor collected the loose sheets and twin tablets.

“You don’t need to clean up,” Nines said.

Connor shook his head. “Simon sent me a list of things he liked the other day. I’ll pick something tonight. Or have him pick. C’mon, we can finish watching that movie.”

“Connor.”

“Really, it’s alright. I’m not upset,” Connor said. “I’m… confused, like I said, but nothing’s going to help that.”

A final rustle stopped right before his face. Connor took the paper but didn’t look at it. “What’s this?”

Nines shrugged. “Something interesting.”

He skimmed over the document, a single eyebrow creeping further and further up his forehead. “This is, as you said, interesting.”

“Perhaps, a happy medium?”

“Sixty is going to hate this.”

A small smile crept over Nines’ face. “All the more reason to try it out.”

\---

It felt like coming home. It felt better than coming home, like returning to a childhood home full of memories. Or the home of the person who raised you. Connor didn’t have a childhood, and no one had raised him from infancy to adult, but the Detroit Police Department had been exceptionally important during the early, formative days after his activation.

Walking in, he took a deep breath of air that smelled like a combination of downtown Detroit air, stale coffee, unwashed bodies of the arrested and cops who had been on shift for far too long, and the cleaning solution the janitors mixed special to cut through the heavy grime that built up within hours. Dotty’s paws clinked on the linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk.

A tall android receptionist didn’t look up as she tapped a few notes into her computer.

“Detroit Police Department,” she said, “did you have an appointment, or will you need to be speaking with someone available?”

“Oh,” Connor said. “I don’t have an appointment per se, but if I needed one, Stacy, I’m sure you’d be the bot to know-”

“Oh my God!” the android perked up, her blonde bob whipping around. “Connor, oh my- Ra9 I haven’t seen you in ages! Not since, well, I guess you’d know better than anyone since what.”

Connor nodded. “I suppose I would.”

Stacy beamed. “What are you doing back here, Connor? If you’re here for Lieutenant or Detective Anderson, I’m afraid they were called out and there’s no way of telling when they’d be back. But, you know, you used to do the same work, you probably know how difficult all those long hours on-scene were.”

Humming in the positive, Connor bobbed his head. “Yeah, you’re right. Actually, Stacy, I’m here for-”

“Oh, you- wait, never mind. I thought you might be dropping off some of those treats your other brother comes by with sometimes. Wow, there are just so many of you RKs all in one little group, hm? Anyways, those strawberry donuts he makes are a- _may_ -zing, but since you don’t have a box I suppose you don’t have any donuts. A shame, I was really craving one since I started thinking about it,” Stacy said. Mainly in one breath.

Connor bit his cheek to keep from smirking. “I see nothing much has changed since I’ve left.”

“Not too much. I mean, different people and crimes every day, but I suppose even the crimes are the same seeing as they’re all written down as rules. Or, anti-rules, I suppose,” Stacy’s eyebrows puckered in thought as she fell silent as quickly as Hank hit the breaks in heavy traffic.

“Laws,” Connor supplied. “The word you’re looking for is laws.”

“Oh my God, thank you,” Stacy beamed again. She suddenly jerked to her tip-toes, leaning against the wide front desk to peer over the rim. “Hello, Dotty! I’ve heard a lot about you! Oh, goodness, she’s so cute. What a good girl.”

“Stacy,” Connor said, “Not to… hurry things along, but I’m actually here to work today.”

“Oh!” Stacy clapped her hands together, one loud slap. “Did you get reinstated already? I wasn’t sure you’d be coming back after your… you know.”

“Different position,” Connor said. He blinked a few times, LED flashing yellow, as he sent the documents to Stacy’s computer. “Everything should be there.”

Plopping back in her seat, Stacy pushed herself by her toes to inch closer and rapidly skimmed the documents. “Oh! We’ve had tons of bots come through here from Jericho. Some of them stayed on, too! Actually, about four weeks ago-”

“That’s great,” Connor cut her off, polite but rather antsy to begin. “Maybe I can meet them later today during my shadow.”

“I dunno… Jason doesn’t work Mondays as he’s on weekends and-”

“Stacy.”

The receptionist grinned. “Alright, alright. Lemme grab you your pass and you can pop a squat right there besides me.”

Connor’s eyes widened minutely. Due to the constantly changing environment of the police department, he knew his itinerary wouldn’t be as structured as previous job experiences had been. It would depend on who was too busy to handle an inexperienced pair of hands tagging along and who was available, as well as what kind of work needed to be done and when. But, starting a morning with Stacy, while not exactly unpleasant, may be difficult to navigate due to her chatty nature.

A holographic police department pass dangled from a cheap silver chain as Stacy hung it from her fingers. “Here we go! Push your thumb to the square there and it’ll copy your ID. Then you can head around the entrance over there. Oh - be sure to use the stroller entrance! Otherwise it’ll cut off the dog and you’ll have to exit and come back in.”

“Got it,” Connor said, already halfway to the barrier. He held the barrier open for the vested dog, Dotty’s nails clicking across the floor as she walked with a strictness, an obedience, and a mission Connor hadn’t seen her with since the first week she had moved into the Anderson residence, and uncertainly stuck to his side as her programming demanded.

He opened the divider to the desks next, again letting Dotty step through before following. “You be good,” he said simply to talk to the dog. Seamlessly, Dotty slipped under the long overhang of the front desk.

“Alright,” Stacy said, nudging a rolling chair toward him with a neon green high heel. “Take a seat there and boot on that computer in front of you. I thought it was a shame that Barb called out of work sick this morning, but turns out it was a good twist of events since now you can follow along using all of her things!”

Connor did as instructed.

Stacy nodded contentedly as she watched the loading bar boot, shrinking and spinning. “Alright, lemme think here a second. Haven’t had to train anyone in forever. Most receptionist positions were given to androids before the revolution, and we all came programmed. But since everything’s changed we’ve gone back to training, but I only had to train a human once before and it seems soooo long again, ya know?”

Connor, a year old, give or take, nodded. “Very long ago,” he agreed cordially.

“Here we go!” Stacy exclaimed, scooting in closer until her chair clinked against Connor’s. He quickly moved his hand before it was crushed between the two seats. “Alright, sign in under guest. Nope, username as “guest.” Password as “password12345.” All lowercase.”

“That seems secure,” Connor said as the computer accepted the log in information.

Stacy shrugged. “It’s just a guest portal. All of the programs, none of the access to important documents, calenders, appointments, employee information… uh, those kinds of things.”

Humming in understanding, Connor messed around with the computer mouse. How quaint. He’d never used a mouse before. He’d either connected electronically to whatever mainframe he needed access to, or used Hank’s laptop when he was being lazy and that only had a trackpad. But, the distance to the computer was a few inches too far to reach comfortably from the chair, and connecting for too long with a computer often left one with a headache. Plus, the mouse was fun to fiddle with.

“Alright, so like I said, same programs but it’s _su-u-per_ limited in the info so just follow along with me. Go ahead and type what you want when I’m typing, since it’s a training program it won’t save anything,” Stacy rattled off. “I know all this front desk work can look super boring from the outside, and in any place slower it would be mind-numbingly awful, but this is the Detroit Police Department! Every person we interact with is a story, and we deal with a lot of, er, let’s call them wackadoos. And wackadoos make the _best_ stories.”

And then Stacy went off into a the long story of a wackadoo she had met the previous day, for only five minutes, but the story was _much_ longer. Connor hadn’t even started the day of a receptionist but already he was wondering if he could switch shifts to work with Barb. Below the desk, he could feel Dotty lay her head on his foot. Through his shoe, he could still feel how annoyed she was at the ceaseless chatter of the bored receptionist who was quite good at finding joy in the little things, but a little too eager in sharing them with everyone else.

Suddenly, in a half-mashed story between a mother she had helped the other day and the proper way to organize calendar meetings, the phone rang. Stacy perked up, eagerly pointing to the phone as she grabbed Connor’s arm.

“Ooh, Connor, go ahead and answer it!”

“Me?” Connor started. “We started ten minutes ago, I’m just here to watch. I don’t think I’m-”

“You’re here to learn,” Stacy corrected. “Go ahead! Quick, before it rings out!”

Hesitating, his hand hovering over the blinking phone, he waiting one more ring before grabbing the receiver and holding it up to his ear. The phone was corded - somewhat antiquated.

“Uh…” Connor cleared his throat. “Hello?”

Stacy quickly waved her hand, gesturing for him to continue. Connor felt his mind blanking. A white board once full of words and details, wiped clean by the cloth of phone anxiety.

“Detroit Police Department?” he asked more than said, receiving a happy nod from the receptionist. “How can I help you?”

He flinched back at a sharp voice, masculine, but reminded him heavily of Cathy the Cake Lady from Nines’ bakery.

“Listen here,” the voice all but screamed through the receiver. “This is the eighth fucking time I’ve called this week. The _eighth_.”

“Mm-hmm,” Connor said with wide eyes, helplessly looking towards Stacy, who smiled encouragingly. Great. “Got it.”

“Ya sure?” the man huffed. “’Cuz ya sure as fuck didn’t help me the other times I called. Maybe I can count them out for ya, then we can say-”

“Eight times, yes sir, got it,” Connor said, already done with his shadow of the wonderful world of the front desk.

The voice on the other side of the phone growled - actually growled - like a wild animal. “Don’t get smart with me, boy, I’m the one who pays your salary.”

_Actually, that’d be Jericho,_ Connor thought but wisely decided not to say. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, ya fucking can! You told me last time that you’d have some info on where the hell my wife is!” the man exclaimed.

“Did you file a missing person’s report?” Connor asked. Stacy, who somehow had not been able to hear the other end of the conversation, peaked up but kept her distance. Apparently her method of training involved trial by fire.

“’Course not! I know she ain’t missing, I just don’t fucking know where she is!”

“Sir?”

“She took off with some asshole slimeball from her work last week, and the officer I spoke with on the phone said he’d get back to me when they got some details. A week ago,” the man continued to shout. “That slut took off and left me with all these stupid kids and I-”

Connor swallowed thickly. “You must be mistaken. I can’t name a cop here who would promise something like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, phone boy, of course he did. He said it right to my face, he said he was _more_ than happy to take on my case,” the man said with no limit of pride and condescending in his voice.

“I thought you said this officer spoke to you over the phone,” Connor commented, He wriggled his foot as Dotty shifted, scratching at her chin.

“Well I spoke to him later, in person,” the man clarified quickly. “And I wanna talk to him, or anyone else who’s available, right now or else-”

“Can I have their name?” Connor cut in.

“What?”

“Their name. The name of the officer who spoke with you,” he clarified. “Or a badge number. Android identification number.”

“Can’t remember,” the man said. “I think the bastard covered his badge.”

Connor lifted his eyes, silently telegraphing for _help_ from the seasoned receptionist who had gotten distracted by a sad looking couple coming up to the desk. He was on his own, apparently.

“Any kind of defining feature?” Connor had to struggle to keep his voice steady. It was so much easier to talk to assholes when he could simply humor them, or arrest them if they became physical. Getting screamed at over the phone did not allow for either of those options, not when his potential job required digging for helpful info to pass on. “Scars, skin color, eye color, any kind of feature.”

“Nope,” the guy said.

“You spoke with an officer about your missing wife and you don’t remember a single feature about the person you spoke with?” Connor stated, clearly repeating what details he had collected so far. “Sir, I can assure you, no officer here would promise to take on a case such as yours. Cheating spouses are not exactly something we deal with to that extent.”

“Listen here, you cocksu-”

The line clicked as it was forcibly disconnected, and Connor looked up from where he had been staring blankly at the desk to the wide, worried blue eyes of Stacy. She retracted her finger from the phone’s base.

“Ra9, I’m so sorry, Connor, was that Mr. Robertson?” she asked.

Connor hung up the receiver. “I never got the chance to ask for his name.”

Stacy flinched, grimacing apologetically. “Yeah, apparently his wife took off with her cubicle neighbor from her office, and he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Last week he’d put in a missing person’s report that Ben Collins figured out without leaving his desk.”

“How’d he manage that?” Connor asked, intrigued.

“He called the wife’s phone number and she picked up and explained _everything_ ,” she giggled. “That woman had nothing to hide, she’d even told her husband she was leaving him. Mr. Robertson thought he could get her in trouble by filing the report. Not sure what he was trying to accomplish with that, since it clearly didn’t work.”

Connor shook his head. “I can’t help but feel sorry for his kids.”

Stacy pat his hand, smiling widely. “Oh, don’t worry, Mrs.- I mean, ex-Mrs. Robertson is already in the process of getting joint-custody of them. Although, she’ll probably end up with full the way that jerk acts.”

Huffing, Connor rolled his shoulders. “I’ll tell ya, the one thing this shadow program has been teaching me, is that people absolutely love to yell at people in customer service.”

“Ra9, tell me about it,” Stacy huffed dramatically. The phone rang. “Oop, let me take this one. It doesn’t look like the same number, but you deserve a quick break after that last one. Then we can go over the wonderful world of our multiple email inboxes.”

He didn’t roll his eyes, not until Stacy had turned her back, anyways. It wasn’t that he despised reception work, but it did rather feel like the kind of job he had been trying to avoid. Desks, phones, computers, and the only time he could walk away was on lunch, going home, or if he ran into one of the offices in the back to let someone know their appointment was in. Too much getting yelled at and not a lot of physical movement to make the berating worth it. At least Nines got to punch dough and mix batter and run around a kitchen between customers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spotted a familiar face. He smirked as he silently rose to his feet, making sure not to disturb the android having a much better conversation on the phone, and slunk over to the side of the desk closest to the bullpen entryway.

“Ey,” Connor shouted harshly towards the lone figure. “I don’t think you’re allowed back there without some kind of badge.”

Sixty whipped around, slamming a hand in his pocket and whipping out his wallet. “What, you mean something like- Connor?”

“Hey!” Connor smiled widely. “Guess where I’m working today.”

Sixty frowned, his face falling until it puckered into a deep grimace. Behind him, the entryway doors slid open as a few other cops began to file in. Gavin, Tina, and a few newer officers coming in from their morning patrols. As was usual with the officers and detectives, not one of them looked up towards the front desk, too wrapped up in the chatter or thoughts or simply ignoring the room around them.

To Connor surprise, his brother snapped away, sidling up besides Gavin and Tina and melting away into the bullpen beyond the entryway. He didn’t look back once.

A warm, furry weight pressed into Connor’s side. He stooped slightly at the waist, bending over enough to ruffle Dotty’s ears as he peered into the lively workplace behind the glass divider.

“We both knew he was going to be pissy,” Connor said quietly to the dog who sniffed at his pant’s leg. “Sixty’s always pissy. But I didn’t think he was going to look so upset that I was thinking of coming back to work here.”

He glanced down as Dotty pressed further into his side. Her nose projection was peeled back again, and a pearly white snout pushed into his calf as she started up another scan.

“I don’t know why you keep doing that,” Connor kept still, regardless. After a few seconds, Dotty pulled back and her nose slipped back to black. No detail report from her scan came through. “You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately, but nothing’s happening. Maybe I should check your programming when we get home tonight.”

Dotty woofed quietly, following him back to the occupied section of desk and reclaiming her position under the desk and resting on his feet. Stacy had started up again, barely setting down the receiver before directing Connor about and guiding him through the different inboxes, the thousands of different emails they would receive in a day, and how to file them accordingly.

All too soon, but not soon enough, the lunch hour came through and rescued Connor from a full day of front-desk receptioning. It was time to be booped by his sidekick until he took his medication, grab a quick meal from the vending machine, remind himself that he really should start packing a decent lunch to these all-day training sessions, and meet with a new instructor to show him the ropes of another non-cop DPD job.

“Eyyyy!” A smooth voice floated out from the filing room. Yoseph, an office assistant, had been a close friend of Connor’s even during his earliest days at the DPD when he was new to emotions, and new to viewing people as coworkers and potential friends instead of superiors in every way possible. “There’s a face I thought I wouldn’t see again. I got a text from Stacy up front saying she was sending back a Connor, but you know that girl can say so much without explaining a thing.”

Connor nodded in full understand. “I just spent a whole morning up there with her. She was training me on how to work up there, but honestly, I’m not sure I learned anything more than I already knew.”

Yoseph laughed. “She’s a sweet kid. But damn if she can’t talk. Ya know, I’ve got this theory that it’s all because she wasn’t allowed to say a wasted word until she broke through all that programming.”

“It’s possible. Perhaps she deviated simply for no other reason than to talk more.” Connor smirked at the thought. He’d seen others deviate over far less. Including the android he met at Jericho who had deviated because his owner had asked him to set out the purple dress, and he hated that purple dress, and knew his owner would look much better in the green.

Yoseph smirked as well. “Alright, man, so getting down to it, I hear that you’re trying out all sorts of different jobs. I’m not gonna pretend that being an office assistant is anything ridiculously hard, but it’s not easy and can be fast paced. Especially around here. There’s mail to run, coffee orders to take and drop off, cases to file in different way, paperwork to check over, on top of every little thing that a cop won’t do because it isn’t in his job description. We’re office assistants, man. We assist.”

“Understood,” Connor said. “Anywhere in particular you’d like me to begin?”

The man paused, thinking a moment. “Alright, so, I know you especially know your way around these filing cabinets, but since you’re not officially hired and this is just a trial thing, I dunno if I can have you helping me in here due to all the sensitive info. I trust ya, Connor, but I can’t play around with the red tape.”

“It’s a privacy violation,” Connor sighed. “I get it. Even though I’d be able to read everything in here a few months ago, I don’t want to break any rules.”

“It’s stupid,” Yoseph stated firmly. His scowl brightened as he caught sight of Dotty, watching him curiously with her tongue lolling out of her mouth and tail flicking behind her. “Ya see that cart there? Because we got a huge amount of paperwork last week to be filed away here, and we recently had to update our filing system, I’ve been stuck back here for days and I’m gonna be stuck back here for days more. I brought the mail with me in case I had time to sort and deliver, but-”

“I can do that,” Connor said eagerly. It wasn’t fun work, no more fun than sorting emails, but at least he wasn’t sitting anymore. He darted over to the cart, littered with no less than a hundred letters tied together into stacks.

“Hell yeah,” Yoseph yanked open another filing cabinet. “And while you sort all those by name, you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to since last we saw ya. Ol’ Hank back there seemed in a pretty dark place around the time you got hurt.”

Conversation was more pleasant when it was two people taking equal, or nearly equal, parts in it. He told Yoseph about the injury, getting Dotty, starting the shadow program, and every ounce of information he could think about the farm and the schoolroom and everything else he had experienced so far. Yoseph seemed as interested in listening as Connor was in telling, and once Connor had wrapped up his recent adventures and still had more mail to sort, dove into his own tales of family and kids and daughters marrying and all kinds of sweet, homey things people spoke about through idle office chatter.

All too soon, the mail was sorted, and Connor was ready to drop it off at the appropriate desks and offices.

“Once you’re done with that, check around and see if there’s anything that can be tidied, freshen the coffee, clean up what you can. I know the janitors do a good job but it’s easiest for everyone if we all work in keeping this place orderly,” Yoseph had called after him as Connor pushed the mail cart out of the filing rooms.

“Keep behind me,” Connor warned as one of the wheels of the cart wobbled. “I don’t want to clip and hurt your tail again.”

Immediately, Dotty took a step back and followed from behind. Despite the less than stellar morning (not bad, simply too chatty for his introverted self to ever be comfortable with) and the snub from his pseudo-twin Sixty, he still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Familiar halls, familiar faces, familiar light that flickered exactly every ten seconds and no amount of changing the bulb fixed.

Ever now and then, a voice would call out his name, “Connor! Shit, when did you get back?” or “If you don’t get over here and hug me right now, I’m gonna arrest you.”

“You needn’t be so violent, Tina, I have you mail right here,” Connor said, wedging the stack of envelopes between them as the short cop manhandled him into what might have been considered a hug if one squinted.

“You don’t understand, I have barely gotten any gossip about you since you went and fried yourself half to death,” Tina flopped dramatically back into her chair and grabbed a letter. Yanking open a drawer, she fished into the messy contents until she’d pulled out a letter opener. And a sucker. Sucker in mouth, she grabbed the first of the many envelopes and sliced it open. “No one wants to pry too much into Hank, cuz that’ll just set him off. And Sixty’s such a little shit and never tells us anything. Nines stops by with doughnuts sometimes, but you know how he is. So quiet and innocent I feel like some kind of evil villain trying to get deets from him.”

“Deets?”

“The deets, those sweet, sweet details,” Tina said around her sucker. She tossed an envelope in the trash, reached for another, and paused. “Oh my God. Connor. Connor. Oh my God.”

Connor sighed. It had taken her a few minutes longer than he had originally thought for the hyper cop to spy the dog, but spy her she did.

“What, Tina?” he asked teasingly.

“Don’t you dare. Oh my God, Connor. Please. Please, Connor, don’t do this to me,” Tina pleaded. She scrunched her fingers in the air, grabby baby hands pinching towards the dog.

Connor hummed in thought, stretching out the moment until he could visibly see the short cop begin vibrating in her chair. “Fine, go on.”

Tina darted forward, placing two neat pats on Dotty’s head and one quick scratch under her chin. “Okay. Okay, I’m good now. I’m goo- wait, one more. Okay. Good now.”

“Ya sure?” Connor rolled his eyes. Much to his chagrin, a chair to his right creaked deeply as it quickly became occupied.

“Son of a bitch,” the voice rasped. “I thought I told you never to show your face around here again.”

Clearly, avoiding Gavin would have been an impossible task. Especially if he accepted a position back at the DPD full time. “I don’t recall you telling me anything of the sort. Of course, the last time I saw you, I was half dead.”

“Looks like it didn’t take,” Gavin groused. “Too bad. What are ya, some kind of mail boy now?”

“Actually, I’m merely shadowing here today,” Connor picked up a stack clearly labeled for the detective, and paused. “Although, I’m not completely sold that this job is for me.”

“You’re doing what now?” Gavin huffed. “C’mon, gimmie my mail, mail-bot.”

Tina hummed from the other side, where she absolutely had not been scratching Dotty at that pleasant spot where a dog’s back dipped directly before it met the tail. “Oh, I’ve heard of that. That’s how we got Jeremy and Daisy. Ya know, Gav, from that Jericho program. We’ve done a few ride-a-longs with different androids, I think you even tried to talk that one guy into joining last week while you two were-”

“I don’t know shit ‘bout androids,” Gavin snapped. “All I know is this one’s got my stuff, and I want it.”

Connor made to hold out the stack of letters, turning away last moment as he gestured towards Tina with the envelopes the way one might talk with their hands. “Ya know, I’m really not sure this job is a good fit for me. It’s great to be back, and already know everyone, but the power dynamic is going to be so awkward.”

“Aw, I don’t think so,” Tina comforted, loudly sliding her letter opener through paper. “Pretty much everyone here would love to have you back, and maybe, even though you can’t go on scenes any more, you’ve still got all that crime solving knowledge programmed in that android brain of yours. You could be half office-bot, half armchair consultant.”

Humming in thought, Connor tapped the stack of envelopes on his chin as Gavin grabbed for it again. A miss. “Armchair consultant? What’s that?”

“Like cold cases,” Tina said. “You could help a ton with those. Or you could look at all the forensics we bring back and piece things together from right here in the bullpen.”

“Perhaps, but-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gavin spat. “You’re not gonna be hired for jack shit if you can’t do your work now!”

“I’m so sorry,” Connor apologies. He tossed the stack of envelopes back on the cart. “You’re absolutely right. There are many officers waiting for these.”

“You motherfu-” Gavin cut himself off as the android finally relented and dropped the hefty stack before him. “Great. Now fetch me a coffee, dipshit. Oh, wait, is that still racist to ask?” he asked with no amount of honest concern in his voice.

“It was never racist,” Connor said as he grabbed the handles of his cart. “But it can be rude. I’ll get to it if I get to it.”

He finished the round of mail with little more interruptions. A few stops to chat, explain, follow-up, and catch-up with friends he hadn’t seen in months. He ran into Hank who had been working with Ben Collins at a gristly scene, but both had called a break to regroup and go over what evidence they currently had.

“Kid,” Hank ruffled his hair, a habit he barely noticed anymore but reveled in the dirty looks he got from his boys. “How’s it been going in here? I gotta deal with anyone?”

“Of course not,” Connor rolled his eyes. “Today’s been… interesting. Not bad interesting, merely… interesting.”

“I see you’ve been doing great things for his vocabulary,” Ben chuckled.

“Shaddup,” Hank groused. “Damn, I gotta piss like a racehorse. Do me a favor, kid, and grab me a cup of coffee?”

Connor tilted his head. “Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?”

“ _Connor_ -”

“I got it, I got it,” Connor scoffed. “And you as well, Officer Collins?”

“Absolutely,” Ben sighed in relief.

Three coffees. One for Hank, with cream and sugar. One of Ben, with two creams and two sugars. And one for Gavin, black, and dropped at his desk hard enough for it to remain upright but thunked down with enough force to spill a few drops over his large stack of mail.

“Asshole.”

“Prick.”

Connor had placed Hank’s coffee on his desk and offered Ben his when Hank returned from the bathroom, fiddling with his phone, and cussing.

“Ya better be willing to take that to go,” Hank said as he grabbed his cup and took a quick gulp. “Got a text from Chris. They found another room in the basement.”

“ _Another_ ,” Ben groaned. “How big is that freaking murder house?”

Hank shook his head. “God, Connor, I wish you could see that scene. It’s beyond fucked.”

“A normal desire for a parent to have for their children,” Connor commented.

“Pisspot,” Hank scoffed. “I’ll tell ya about it tonight once… I know what the hell it is I can tell you about this case.”

“You’ll tell me anyways,” Connor said.

“Course I will,” Hank replied in a mock whisper. “Catch ya later, kid. Be good.”

Connor snorted as the elder detective stuffed his phone in his pocket, ruffled his hair, and took off towards the door a few steps faster than Ben could keep up with. The Hank of today was a far cry from the pre-Revolution Hank Connor had once known. He liked to think that, while the Hank in his glory days was never going to be seen again, he was close to the man he once was, and changed only by experience and experiences.

Behind him, Connor sensed more than saw his brother’s presence. The android pushed past him without a spare glance, shoving off to his desk and connecting with the computer without a word.

“What do you think?” Connor asked the little dalmatian. “Think we should be nice to him?”

Dotty leaned into his side, lifting large, honey-brown eyes to look into his. Her nose flared, but as per usual, she did not reply.

“Fine,” Connor threw up his hands. “Fine, I’ll be the bigger bot and be nice to him. Come on, Dotty, this way.”

He led her to the break room once more. Thankful that he had started a fresh pot of coffee as Yoseph had suggested, he only had to wait a few minutes for the pot to finish brewing. Idly, he rubbed at his chest, letting his arms drop as Dotty pawed at him for access.

“Again?” he checked the coffee pot. Not ready yet. He knelt down, skillfully keeping his balance as the dog hopped into his lap with her front paws and pushed her face into his chest. “This is, what, the fifth time today? I promise, I’ll check your coding once you get home. I don’t want you getting stressed if this is nothing more than a little glitch you’ve got.”

Unlike the previous times, a pop-up alert came into his HUD, directed from the dog reading his heart rate.

_STATUS REPORT:_

_SPONSOR: Perdita K-Nine Unit 04-15-20-20-25-248_

_Resting Heart Rate: Abnormal - within limits (Addendum: Biocomponent incompatible)_

_Thirium Pressure - Normal_

_Thirium Levels: 92% - within limits_

_Stress Levels: 12% - within limits_

_WARNING: Murmur detected - within limits_

_WARNING: Murmur detected - abnormal_

_WARNING: Murmur detected - within limits_

_WARNING: Murmur detected - abnormal_

_Shortness of breath…… N_

_Dizziness……N_

_Confusion……N_

_Please indicate pain levels 1-10_

Connor paused, quickly skimming through the short report again. He’d never received one before, not since the early weeks in which he and Dotty were getting used to each other, will before even Rose’s farm. But, despite receiving the report, nothing seemed to be wrong, or exceptionally out of the ordinary.

Dotty pawed at him, pressing harder into his chest.

_Please indicate pain levels 1-10_

_RK800 “Connor” Unit - 313 248 317 - 52:_

_Reporting pain levels…… 2_

_K-Nine “Perdita”_

_Please indicate pain levels 1-10_

“Dotty,” Connor scolded gently. “I already did. I’m always achy or sore.”

_Please indicate pain levels 1-10_

“I’m serious, nothing-”

_Please indicate pain levels 1-10_

_RK800 “Connor” Unit_

_Reporting pain levels…… 4_

“Happy?” Connor asked as the odd scan ended the the report disappeared. “I am _slightly_ achier than normal. I’ve also had a busy week and been on my feet all day. The DPD is a stressful environment. I always went home tired or sore. It’s no big deal, girl.”

The dog withdrew, nose flesh returning, and plopped her rear on the floor. She met him with a stern gaze, but sent no other documents and did not paw or bark for further attention.

“Nothing?” Connor asked. “No ‘Return to Cyberlife’ or ‘Report for Repairs?’ Nothing more than a fluke, like I’ve been telling you?”

Dotty snorted, unable to understand most human speech but quite aware when she was being insulted. She panted as a soft treat was held in front of her, and she gently lapped it up in a single slurp.

“You’re a good girl,” Connor praised as he pushed himself up to his full height with a groan. Crouching for so long was uncomfortable, and standing up from such an odd position forced him to blink away the creeping blackness that nearly always threatened to overtake his vision when he hopped up too quickly.

The coffee was done. Filling a ceramic mug decorated with a grumpy bullfrog on the side, Connor made short work of utilizing the fresh brewed pot and pouring in an ungodly amount of sugars and half a creamer. He stirred the grainy liquid until the spoon stopped scratching along the bottom of it, and the sound of sand disappeared back into liquid.

Crossing the bullpen, Connor quickly made his way over to his brother and set down the grumpy frog mug before the android with a similar face.

“What are you doing?” Sixty muttered lowly, eyes unmoving from his computer screen, as if being caught speaking to his own brother might be some kind of unforgivable crime dangerous to perform in a building full of cops.

“My job,” Connor smiled. “I made you a coffee, just the way you like it.”

Sixty hummed.

“Eight sugars, half a creamer, and absolutely no messing with it,” he smirked.

The mug halfway to his face, Sixty paused. “You messed with this. Didn’t you,” he ordered under his breath.

“Of course not. What kind of sibling would mess with their own brother’s coffee?” Connor grinned innocently. He inhaled sharply, quickly rubbing out the twinge in his chest, grin unfaltering. “As I said, completely not messed with.”

Sixty slammed it back on the desk. “You did. I know you did.”

Sliding out his bottom lip, Connor pouted as he made for the coffee. “Fine, I’ll just take it back if you don’t want it.”

“Don’t touch my coffee,” Sixty snapped. “I wanna know what you did to it.”

“Hold on,” Conner rolled his eyes. He dipped his finger in the coffee, licked the single drop with the entirety of his tongue, from fingertip to the base of his finger, and stuck it back in the coffee. “There. Now I messed with it.”

“Fucker,” Sixty took an angry sip anyways. “Fuck off. Why are you bothering me, anyways?”

“I wanted to be nice and bring you a coffee,” Connor repeated. “I was only teasing, playing around like we do at home.”

“We’re not at home. We’re at work,” Sixty said. “Either act like it or fuck off.”

Connor took a step back from the desk. “I don’t understand what your problem is. We used to goof around all the time when we worked together. But you won’t even look at me. You looked absolutely pissed this morning. I knew you’d be cranky, because you always are, but I don’t understand why you’re ignoring me like you’re actually angry.”

A beat. Slowly, Sixty turned in his chair, meeting Connor with the first full look he had given him since accidentally meeting him that morning at the front desk. His eyes burned with fury, and his hands clenched tightly in his lap.

“Sixty?”

“You can’t understand why I might not appreciate you suddenly showing up at my workplace, without warning me?” Sixty growled.

“No, I really can’t. Because barely four months ago this was _our_ workplace where _we_ worked. You never had a problem with us working together before,” Connor said. Dotty pressed up against his side as he felt his stress begin to tick up, and his heart rate up with it.

“Because four months ago, we _were_ working together. We were both here doing real work, detective and police work, as a police department would demand,” Sixty clarified as if it were the simplest thing, and having to explain it further increased his anger.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like coming in here and seeing my brother drag himself around, pretending he can still do all the things we used to do, acting like nothing’s changed,” Sixty snapped. “It’s embarrassing. The other officers might pretend it doesn’t bother them to see you here, reminding them of what could happen to any one of us, but it does. It really does, Connor.”

“I… embarrass you?” Connor blinked. If Dotty scanned him now, her report would absolutely come back differently. It felt as if a rug had been yanked out from under him, his head spun, his heart beat in ways that made it ache a little bit more, and his chest felt as if Sixty was using one hand to squeeze the air out of his lungs and his other to stab into his pump.

“Here? Yes,” Sixty said. He stood up, his height exactly the same but somehow managing to leer over his twin. “It’s fine when you’re out there, chasing after babies or goats or whatever the fuck it is you do, because out there nobody knows what you are- _were_ capable of. But in here, everyone knows what you’re supposed to be, because I’m doing it. It’s pathetic, Connor, and I’m not going to deal with the looks everyone gives me whenever you pass by with a janitor cart, or the mail, or whatever it is that’s wasting what you were supposed to be.”

“I embarrass you,” Connor repeated slowly. “Not just here. You’re embarrassed by me all the time, no matter where I am or what I’m doing… aren’t you? Do you feel the same way about Nines, or only me, because of what happened?”

“I’m not having this conversation right now, Connor,” Sixty snapped. “I have work to do. Go clean the coffee maker and fuck off.”

“Don’t bother,” Connor snapped for Dotty to stand and heel. “We’re not having this conversation later, either. Don’t bother speaking to me when you get home. I wouldn’t want you wasting the breath.”

“Be like that,” Sixty hissed as Connor snapped Dotty’s leash on and stormed towards the entryway. He disappeared behind the divider, and never returned to the bullpen. Not that Sixty checked.

Fifteen minutes ticked by. Unmarred by guilt, filled with nothing but a steady stream of working and filling out reports. Fifteen minutes, silent and uninterrupted, until the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafted into his area.

“Dude,”

Sixty kicked back in his chair. “You really should stop smoking, Tina.”

“Yeah, yeah, _they’re bad for your health,_ ” she tried, and failed, to mock in his voice. “It’s literally written on the box, I know how bad they are.”

“I don’t care about that, you fucking reek like cigarettes,” Sixty waved a hand in front of his face. “What do you want this time, Tina? Run out of quarters for the vending machine again?”

“Yeah, but that can wait,” Tina said. “I wanted to see if Connor said anything to you before he took off.”

Sixty’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What did he tell you?”

“He said he wasn’t feeling well and had to head back home,” Tina explained.

Sixty snorted. “Of course he’d say something like that. He’s fine, we had an argument. It’ll probably blow over in a few days.”

He shifted uncomfortably as the lie bittered his tongue, and Tina’s gaze swept him up and down. “I dunno about that… He didn’t look so hot, and his dog was getting pretty antsy. I waited with him until the cab came cuz he just looked too pale to me.”

“And of course, had a cigarette in the meantime?” Sixty rolled his eyes, deflecting easily.

“I’d already lit up when I saw him,” Tina shoved his chair with her shoe. “I’m just letting you know, your brother looked like shit when he left. I’d call him later if he were my brother, but I’ve only got a sister.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sixty scoffed. He scooted back to his computer. “I know you haven’t done your report yet, and ours are due at the same time.”

“When?”

Sixty checked his internal chronometer. “Bout thirty minutes.”

“Shit,” the short girl cussed and hurried across the bullpen and back to her desk.

Alone once more, Sixty was able to return to his own report and finish it in good time. But, as there was always room for improvement, he began rereading it to ensure it sounded proper and had all the details from the naked man they had had to deal with that morning - again. Alone, uninterpreted, and guilt free. Aside from that single, niggling part of his brain that, once activated by some outside force, would nag and pester him until he did something to silence it.

“ _Tina said to check on you. I am checking on you_ ,” he sent a quick mental text. As expected, several minutes passed by without a response. Of course he wouldn’t get a response, not after the spat he had started.

It wasn’t what he had felt, and it wasn’t what he had meant to say, but they were the words that had come out and the breed of stubbornness he had deviated with made him defend those untruthful words to his dying breath. He wasn’t good at putting words to feelings, and unlike Nines, no amount of quiet contemplation would fix that. The future argument that was bound to come would inevitably drag out the proper words, but in the meantime, there was nothing that could compel him to apologize or backtrack or act as if anything was out of the ordinary. He was built that way. He was built to be less empathetic and less emotionally weak than his same model predecessor. He was built an asshole, and it has a hard programming to break.

Connor still wasn’t answering his texts, and experience showed that he would not respond to future texts or answer a call. And now that the nagging, worrying, guilty part of his brain had been activated, he would not be able to focus on his work until he had alleviated his mind. Connor was fine, but until he saw his spiteful glare with his own eyes, the day was going to suck.

He rapped unapologetically on the glass door of the captain’s office. 

“What do you want, Richard?” Captain Fowler grumbled as the android pushed the door open.

“I left part of my file at home,” he said. “For that case we’re working on.”

“What file?” Fowler countered smoothly.

“The one for the case,” Sixty repeated.

Captain Fowler’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How long will it take you to get these files?”

“The time it takes me to drive home, get the files, and get back,” Sixty said.

Fowler nodded slowly. “Get the files, get back. If you’re not back within thirty minutes, I will personally pry off your shiny tin ass and hang it on my wall.”

“Right over the fireplace,” Sixty promised. He easily snagged his father’s car keys from his desk drawer, cutting down on the time it would take to hail a cab.

“The little fuck better not start anything,” he growled to himself as he cranked the music and hurried home. Get home, check on Connor, get out. Get home, check on Connor, get out. Get home, check on Connor, get out.

Easy. He repeated the steps even as he swerved through traffic. The mantra continued as he flipped off disorderly drivers and as he left the car running and stormed up to the front of the house. The mantra paused as a sharp bark from the backyard caught his attention, drawing him away from the front door and towards the fence.

Sumo, the big idiot, had busied himself with digging yet another hole. He didn’t dig by the fence, trying to escape into the outside world. He dug smack in the middle of the yard, simply for the thrill of tearing up the grass and soil and being a two-hundred pound menace. A menace covered in enough dirt to warrant having been outside around fifteen to twenty minutes. Another bark, the same pitch that had distracted him before, pulled his attention to the small deck. Dotty danced nervously before the back door, barking and scratching to be let back in. Occasionally, Sumo would reply, boofing as if it were a game, but the oaf continued to dig and the dalmatian continued to scratch at the door.

Whipping around, Sixty rushed back to the front door and burst inside.

“Connor?” he called. “Connor, I know you’re pissed at me right now, but if you don’t fucking answer-”

He cut himself off as he spied a shoe on the couch, still connected to a body. Facing the back of the couch, it didn’t take a detective of Sixty’s caliber to understand his LED was red.

“Connor?” he repeated, reaching forward first to tap the android’s shoulder, then pull him back. “If you’re fucking ignoring me…”

Connor grunted as he rolled until he faced upright, his face a tight grimace and his breaths short and sharp. “Richie?”

“Fuck’s going on with you?” Sixty demanded. “You were fine an hour ago.”

“I dunno, I don’t-” Connot panted, flinching as he tightened a hand over his chest. “I don’t know what’s going on. Hurts…”

Sixty snapped in front of his face, sharp. “Stay awake, dumbass.”

“Dunno… if I can…”

“I’ll kick your ass if you don’t,” Sixty said, already dialing the emergency dispatcher. There wasn’t time to argue to bring out the proper words to correct the words from earlier, and he absolutely was not going to apologize now. He’d call for the ambulance, tell Fowler to fuck off, let the dogs inside, then call their father and other brother.

A limp hand fell in his crouched lap, and Sixty realized he hadn’t made a movement beyond mentally call the operator. He grabbed it, matching the weak squeeze with a powerful one of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I’m just gonna admit it and say all of them are probably going to be long/long-ish chapters and apologize now for everything in advance. xD
> 
> Meanwhile… that was a lot of drama that went on there. Sixty being a HUGE jerk, followed by the medical emergency with Connor. Poor Dotty being left outside while she knows her owner is on the other side of the door, needing help she can’t give him. Also, don’t worry, Sixty will be dealt with properly (both for the words he said and the hidden ones he’s really shitty at saying).
> 
> Thank you so much if you’ve read this far, and please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed!! As always, if you have a job you’d like Connor to try out, send it my way! :D 
> 
> Finally, please excuse bad spelling/bad grammar. As per usual, this is all written and edited and really stupid hours of the night.


	9. Interventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Hospitals, more family arguing.

Hank and Nines arrived to the android hospital at the same time. It made sense, Sixty mused as he leaned against the white hallway wall, an electric cigarette in his mouth. He’d called Hank at work, but as he stolen the man’s car to check up on Connor at home, the older detective had been forced to take a cab and probably picked up Nines on the way.

Nines reached him first, his height compared to the still taller-than-average human giving him longer, faster strides. Before Sixty attempted to speak, or could take a moment to think up what to say, his brother had snatched the plastic tube from his mouth.

“It’s smokeless,” Sixty grumbled. “Give it back.”

_Snap_. The thin tube broke easily in the RK900’s fingers. Sixty said nothing. He wasn’t in the mood to start another argument. Besides, he had a spare pipe in his pocket and refills in his work desk.

“Richard,” Hank’s sharp voice boomed breathlessly in the empty corridor. “What the hell’s going on? You told us jack shit on the phone.”

“I’d’ve told you more had I known anything,” Sixty huffed. “The tech dealt with him awhile ago, and I think Markus is with him now.”

“You _think_?”

“Well, he went in there ‘bout ten minutes ago and I haven’t seen him come back out,” Sixty stated. He pulled the spare electric cigarette case from his pants pocket and took out the spare. He twiddled it between his fingers, but refused to bring it to his lips in case Nines stole it again.

He felt his father’s eyes narrow in on him, squinting suspiciously. “Why aren’t you in there with him?”

Sixty shrugged. “Figured he wouldn’t want me around right now.”

“What did you do?” Hank ordered.

Saved by the heavy click of the hospital door handle, Sixty barely acknowledged as the door swung open and his family snapped towards it.

“I thought I heard voices,” Markus said quietly. “You can come in, he’s awake.”

Hank shoved by without a word, followed by the equally silent but more polite stepping-past of Nines. Sixty popped the empty cigarette in his mouth, letting the tube warm without any of the nicotine-resembling signals tingling his sensors.

“He doesn’t want me in there,” he repeated without looking towards Markus.

“I know,” the android leader replied. “But I think you should.”

Sixty rolled the tube in his mouth. “Too crowded in there.”

“I was about to leave,” Markus countered easily. “He wasn’t able to tell me much about what happened, and I don’t believe he’d tell anyone what happened between the two of you even if he had the strength. But nothing’s going to get better unless you make active steps to fix it.”

The detective model snorted, but shoved himself off the wall. Markus stepped out of the doorway, taking his leave as promised.

“You might want to lose the cigarette,” he warned.

Rolling his eyes, Sixty scoffed again, “It doesn’t put out any smoke. It’s fine.”

“They’re addictive and they mess with your sensors,” Markus stated. Regardless, he gave Sixty a good-luck smile and made his way down the hall.

Taking a breath, Sixty pocketed the empty tube and barreled into the room before he could hesitate. Not that anyone looked up to notice him. Hank was already at Connor’s bedside, and Nines was teasing his brother’s hair the way he always did when one of them was laid up. The surprise in the room was Simon, an android Sixty had not seen enter the room but could have joined the fray in the difficult to recall moments when Sixty had pinged him and Markus about the situation, and a steady stream of techs and assistants had swarmed in and out of the room in a faceless blur.

The only one in the room to notice him was the one who should have ignored him the most.

Connor cocked his head, eyes slowly roving until they landed on the newcomer. A thin oxygen mask misting him with medicated air designed to help cool his biocomponents hid half of his features, but it was clear his face faltered a moment before smoothing out into a typical unfocused look.

“They gave me the good shit,” Connor slurred as he lolled back to his father and youngest brother. “Don’ feel much’a anything now. Just…. fuzzy.”

Simon smirked from where he adjusted a machine. “Don’t get too used to it. Once those wear off, that’s all you’re getting of the… _good shit_.”

Connor whined, sinking further into the pillows and Nine’s twisting fingers in his hair.

“But he’s alright now?” Hank asked, visibly still shaken and anxious _._ “I’m still not getting why this happened. He’s been acting fine for weeks, unless,” he eyes narrowed at the drugged bot struggling to keep eye contact with him, “he’s been hidin’ shit.”

Simon shook his head. “I doubt Connor even knew anything was going on. The warning signs were subtle, I doubt he noticed much of anything.”

“Dotty?” Nines asked, his voice barely audible.

Hank took charge, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, what’s the point of that damn dog if she’s not gonna warm us about this shit?”

“My fault,” Connor mumbled beneath the mask. “She warned me at work an’ I went home… She ‘n Sumo had to go out so I let ‘em out and went to lie down… Don’t remember much until… uh, Sixty woke me up.”

“Blackouts and fainting are common symptoms,” Simon agreed, clarifying further. “What Connor experienced isn’t quite like a heart attack or heart failure, but it’s not quite unlike it either.”

“Of course,” Hank said sarcastically. “That makes all kindsa sense.”

Endlessly patient, Simon continued without a sign he was bothered by the brash human. “As you know his heart is very weak compared to the rest of him, and was not made to support his systems. I found some system logs that show he’s been experiencing a slight murmur, or irregular heartbeats, but most within a pattern that would make sense with his downgraded transplant. Now, sometimes these can suddenly get worse, or progressively worse, or something can set them off.”

“Something set him off?” Sixty blurted from his awkward position a few feet from the foot of the bed.

The blonde android shrugged. “It’s possible. The logs date back several days, but there are more of them within the past hour. Of course, as I said, there could be one or several reasons this happened, and we’ll never know for certain.”

Hank sniffed accusingly, his detective mind already jumping to conclusions drawn with an accurate pen. Thankfully, he remained on topic without delving deeper into what potentially set off the attack. “Is this something we gotta worry about?”

“No more than usual,” Simon smiled gently. “The techs earlier were discussing that his medications might be upped for the next few weeks to see if there are any positive changes, but besides a few days of rest he should be back on his feet. And I expect a full list of shadow experiences once you’re feeling better again, Connor.”

The bot in the bed grinned, still hidden beneath the mask and so drugged and goofy that his eyes and cheeks scrunched up from the severity of the grin. Simon chuckled, gently helping him out of the oxygen mask, checking a few more medical appliances, and making a note in Connor’s file.

“We’ll be having a nice, long conversation about those later,” Hank warned the still goofy-grinning android. “We really don’t need to worry?”

“He’ll be fine,” Simon promised. “He’ll probably be released by the end of the day so long as he continues to improve. Everything looks good now, it was nothing more than a scary but not too-bad crash. His heart just needed a break and we helped give it back its strength.”

“That’s not exactly somethin’ we want checkin’ out,” Hank muttered.

Simon smiled. “I’ll be leaving now. Give me a message when you get home, Connor? Or, better yet, let Markus know. I’m sure he’ll let all of us know as soon as you text.”

Connor blushed lightly, nodding promisingly as Simon returned the nod once and left.

The door had barely clicked shut behind the blonde android, the room falling into a half second of silence before Connor shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“’M sorry…”

“That didn’t take long,” Hank pat him twice on the hospital blanket covered knee. “Ya know you never gotta apologize for gettin’ sick. Unless you were doin’ something stupid. You do something stupid?”

Connor shook his head.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Hank grinned slightly. Once Connor returned it, still much too large a smile for his face, he nudged over a chair and leaned back. “You’re alright, kiddo.”

“The dogs okay?” Connor hummed sleepily.

“Course the fucking dogs are alright, they’re dogs,” Hank nodded, turning towards Sixty. “Right?”

The twin visibly froze, blanking as he pulled up his memory banks. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I let ‘em in before following the ambulance. Sumo’s probably muddy, though.”

Connor didn’t acknowledge his brother, eyes cast downward as he barely nodded. His eyes shuttered close, clearly not sleeping.

“Alright,” Hank rubbed his hands together in a nervous, commanding habit. “What the hell went on between you two? Connor can barely keep a straight face until he looks at you, and you’ve yet to look anyone in the eye, Richard.”

“Nothing happened,” Connor said, eyes still closed. “’M tired, that’s all.”

“Bullshit.”

“We had a little fight,” Sixty said, twiddling with his empty cigarette tube. “We’ll straighten it out later.”

“Don’t want to,” Connor said, shifting more on his side towards Nines. “’S fine. We’re fine.”

“Clearly you’re not,” Hank pointed out, “Or you’d both be fine now. Especially after what happened at home today. If this was a _little_ spat you’d of set it aside after Con got sick and you’d probably be awkward but actually _talking_ to each other.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Connor reinstated, open his eyes long enough to glance towards his father. “I said it’s fine.”

Nine’s hand moved to hover over Connor’s, the flesh peeling back to white. “Do you want to show me?” he asked softly.

The bedridden android shook his head, shifting until he peeked nervously towards his twin. Sixty shoved the empty cig in his mouth, tore it out again, and rolled it like a pencil between his fingers.

“Do what you want, Con, I don’t fucking care.”

As if spurred, Connor pressed his palm against Nines’ still exposed hand, drawing back his own skin projection. Their eyes fell shut, twitching occasionally beneath their lids, as memories and thoughts and emotions and feelings drifted between the two.

Slowly, Nines withdrew. Their skin returned to pale and paler flesh tones, and Connor squeezed his younger brothers hand. His unfocused eyes were pleading, struggling to focus for long but clearly communicating something understood by no one else in the room but them. It didn’t work, and Nines gently released Connor’s hand and rose from his tucked position by the pillows. Connor looked down, contemplating the blanket and the IV tube with an almost guilty look on his face.

Nines strode across the room in four quick steps, and cracked Sixty across the face.

“Niles!” Hank exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

“Get out,” Niles hissed, his voice so quiet it was the only sound noticeable in the room. “Get-get the _fuck_ out.”

“Niles, what- Richard, get yours ass back over here! Niles, what are you-” Hank was cut off by the harsh boom of the solid hospital door slamming shut.

Nines reclaimed his position on Connor’s bed, but kept his hands in his lap. He hid the palm, but it was clearly blue from the force he had used to strike Sixty across the cheek.

“What the hell was that?” Hank demanded, sharp but in a softer voice than he would have used on either of the twins. “Niles? I’ve never seen you lose it like that before. What did he show you?”

“I-” The youngest android shook his head, swallowing his voice voice failed him. “I need a minute. Please.”

Hank nodded, reclaiming his seat but gripped the rests as if he might need to jump up again. Connor shut his eyes, blocking out the picture of his youngest brother, looking more hurt and angry than he had ever seen him before. A tumultuous swirl of anxiety, anger, guilt, and exhaustion flooded his chest and made his fuzzy head feel as if it were nothing more than a solid brick of lead.

The exhaustion won, fading away the gentle beeping of the machines and the barely noticeable tremble in the bed he knew originated from the other android. 

\---

Home was comfortable, physically. Connor would always prefer the lumpy couch or smoothness of a mattress at home to the firm beds at the hospital. Every other way - mentally, emotionally, verbally - home was awkward and uncomfortable. Connor was upset at himself. He had been drugged and not thinking clearly, and should have never shared the exact details of his fight with Sixty in such clarity with Nines. Nines was upset at Sixty, disbelieving that his own sibling could speak so cruelly and with such little repentance. Hank was angry at the whole situation, coming off as if angry at everyone. Even Dotty seemed upset, having been locked out and unable to do her job, and stood unmoving by the couch or laying on top of Connor’s legs with a look that clearly said, _try me, bitch_. Sumo lay depressingly on his bed, the heavy atmosphere making him tired and lazy.

Sixty was nowhere to be found.

Clearly, Hank had been informed of what went down at the station while Connor had been sleeping off the worst of the drugs and fatigue of having a “heart failure-like experience without the real threat of heart failure, only the pain and fear and exhaustion tied with it.” He’d stormed around the house, banging this and that, riffling cupboards and the inside of the fridge as if instinctively rooting about for something alcoholic. Upon finding nothing that suited him, he could be heard banging around in the garage. Moving boxes, throwing things from plastic bin to plastic bin, accomplishing chores that were not chores to keep from taking his anger further out on the two inside who did not deserve it.

Connor shifted on the sofa as Nines set a glass of water on the coffee table.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. He quickly tidied up the table, stacking up magazines and a few of Connor’s pamphlets to make room for a small orange bottle of pills.

Connor shrugged, patting Dotty, who had managed to squirm further up his chest until she lay on his stomach.

“Any pain?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just… I’m sorry. This whole mess is my fault.”

“Absolute not,” Nines said quickly. “The only one at fault here is Sixty. He should have never said those… those… _things_ to you.”

“Maybe not,” Connor said uncertainly. “But I should have kept my own mouth shut. Kept things between the two of us, like I’d planned. But I didn’t, and now everyone is angry and on edge, and I can’t help but blame myself for all of it.”

Nines sat down on the floor next to the couch. Across the room, Sumo spied an easy target to love him and quickly plodded his rotund body across the room and heavily fell across the youngest RK’s lap.

“How long do you think you could have kept something like that between the two of you?” Nines asked. “With the way the two of you were acting around each other, in a house full of detectives, police officers, and law enforcement programming?”

Snorting, Connor groaned as he stifled a laugh. Rubbing his chest, he moaned, “’M sore, Nines, shut up.”

“Do you need-”

“I need-” Connor cut him off, not cruely. “I need to know how to straighten out this mess.”

Nines carded his fingers through the heavy fur of the St. Bernard. “I don’t think that’s something you’re going to figure out on your own. Or for you to decide at all.”

The bot on the couch shrugged again. “Ugh, Nines. I’m sore, tired, bored, and I don’t think I can sleep anymore today.”

“There’s chocolate chip muffins in the bread box,” Nines suggested. “They’re only a little stale.”

He tried, and failed, to hide a grimace. “Nng, not right now. Thanks, though.”

“There’s slices of lemon cake,” Nines pointed out. “I can trim off the frosted parts to make it less sweet.”

Connor laughed again, smothering it under a moan as he gripped his chest. “Please, Nines, stop. How ‘bout a movie? You pick.”

It was a fair enough compromise, although he did make a show of getting himself a snack from the day-olds bread box and ensuring he set aside a chocolate chip muffin next to the glass of water that was clearly not for himself. Then he settled back against the couch, comfortably seated on the floor, with Sumo curled in his lap.

They had made it halfway through Nine’s favorite _Star Wars_ movie, the third one - although Connor could not figure out if he meant the third of the original trilogy, the prequel trilogies, the reboot trilogies, the remade trilogies, or the one that had finished recently - when the engine of Hank’s oldsmobile came rumbling up the driveway.

The car door slammed, and the sound of stomping footsteps sounded from both outside and in the house as Sixty made his way to the front door and Hank stormed in from the garage.

“The fuck you’ve been?” Hank shouted as soon as the door swung open.

Sixty slammed it shut. “Does it matter?”

“After that shit you pulled?” their father exclaimed, loud enough to garner even Sumo’s lazy attention. “Not only that, but first the shit you pulled, then you took my fucking car without- oof,” Hank slapped a hand over his chest to catch the projectile Sixty had launched at him. His car keys.

“I was out,” Sixty said defiantly. “I’m back now. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can’t even tell I’m here.”

“You made your own brother sick, Richard!” Hank accused. “I know you boys have your fights, God knows my brother and I would talk through our fists out back more often than I’d care to tell ya, but what you did wasn’t fighting, Richard. That was downright vile.”

“You know I’m shit when it comes to saying what I mean,” Sixty snapped.

“There’s a difference between schoolyard bullying and going after someone with a knife,” Hank said. “That ain’t shit you accidentally say.”

“Hank, don’t-”

“Lie down and shut the fuck up, Connor.”

The android slipped back into the sofa, peering over the back of the sofa as far as his still aching chest would allow. Nine’s height advantage allowed him an equally poor view from his frozen spot on the floor.

“Look, I’m leaving all of you alone,” Sixty stated as he shoved past his father and down the single hallway towards the bedrooms. “It’s what you all want, anyways.”

The boys’ shared bedroom door slammed shut a few moments later.

“I’ll talk to him,” Hank said firmly, more commanding the two RKs in the living room to sty put than allying their nerves.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Nines said. “Neither of you are in a good headspace, you’ll only make things worse.”

“I’m not lettin’ him get away with this,” Hank snorted, an angry bear.

Connor pushed himself upright, biting back a groan. Once sitting, he let his head hang heavy on his neck, taking a few steadying breaths.

“Connor?”

“Fine, Nines,” he assured him. “Little lightheaded. It’s passed now.”

“You should lie back down,” Nines said nervously. “Let them blow up if they’re going to, but stay out of it for now. You’ve barely been home an hour.”

“It’s been more than an hour,” Connor carefully stood up. Without prompting Dotty hopped after him, glaring as much as a dog could, sticking to his side as if super-glued. “I’ll talk to him, dad. It’s between us, anyways.”

“Can’t wait a damn day before putting yourself back in the hospital?” Hank huffed. “Do what you want. Everyone else around here doesn’t care who gives who a heart attack, might as well give me one, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Connor said, “Nines is still the good one.”

“For now,” Hank groused. He plopped himself on the couch Connor had abandoned, ignoring as another son slipped down the hallways. “Love of Christ, Niles, this movie again? You’re one rewatch away from making my shit list, too.”

Nines hid a smirk in the furry side of the St. Bernard pinning him down.

Connor carefully approached the bedroom door. He rapped on it twice with his knuckles, received no answer, and entered without invite.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Sixty glowered. He flinched as Connor switched on a light, squinting and grumbling childishly.

“We share a room,” Connor stated. He let Dotty trot in before shutting the door behind him. “Isn’t that Nines’ bed?”

“Shared room,” Sixty spit back. “What do _you_ want? Didn’t hear enough earlier?”

“Nothing’s going to go back to normal unless we have this talk,” Connor gingerly sat down at the foot of Nines’ bed. “Besides, if I’m going to have a heart attack over this, I’d rather have it now and get it over with.”

Sixty lay unmoving against Nines’ pillows, frowning and crossing his arms. “That’s not funny, Connor.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

The prone RK800 huffed, starting out sharp, but dissolving into a weak sigh. “What I said earlier… it wasn’t what I meant to say. It’s how it came out, but it’s not what I wanted. I’m just… shit. Shit at talking, shit at emotions, shit at all of it.”

Connor nodded slowly. After a moment, he shifted on the bed until he faced the door with his back to Sixty. “Maybe, if I sit here, without looking at you, no pressure, you can take a minute like Nines does and tell me what you were trying to say at the DPD?”

“You’re gonna be sitting there an awful long time,” Sixty stated.

Connor shrugged. He pat the bed, still facing away from Sixty, inviting the dalmatian to hop up. Dotty obliged, snuffling from brother to brother. She pressed her nose against Connor, more of a sniff than a scan, and did the same for Sixty. Satisfied with their readings, but not their stress measures, her programming decided that it was time to pull out the more drastic emotional service dog programs.

Dotty yipped, pawing at Sixty with her spotted rump in the air.

“Stupid dog,” Sixty brushed her away. “Stop that.”

She yipped again, dropping her haunches only to belly-crawl across the bed, wriggling as excitedly as a fat puppy. She pawed at his pants, his hips, his shirt, his chest, until she had all but crawled on top of his body and panted inches away from his face.

“Connor, your idiot dog’s gone nuts,” Sixty pushed at her lightly, barely doing more than ruffling her fur. “She’s- ack!” He choked as Dotty licked the entirety of his face. Again. And again. And again. And again.

Small laughs filled the room, barely audible above the happy pants of the squirming dog and the disgusted noises as Sixty’s face - and mouth - were coated in K-nine spit.

“Okay, okay,” Connor said, voice lighter, as he tugged the tiny dog off of his twin’s chest. “That’s enough, Dotty. I think you calmed him down, good girl.”

“I was calm,” Sixty muttered from the inside of his sleeve, furiously wiping at his face.

“Dotty still likes you,” Connor turned only far enough to reclaim the attention of his dog, who skittered back to his side and lay down. “I trust her judgement.”

Sixty wiped his face once more. He settled back against the pillow, watching his brother’s back and slightly shaky hand brushing against the artificial fur.

“I don’t want you working at the DPD. In any capacity.”

“Because it embarrasses you.”

“No,” Sixty said. “It doesn’t. Or, not like that. Just forget about anything I said in the bullpen. It was all bullshit, and I wasn’t sure what I was trying to explain, and then I saw Gavin and it made my train of thought go completely off the rails. But… I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I meant to say since then.”

Connor nodded, keeping his eyes on Dotty.

“I’m not _embarrassed_ by you, and I don’t think you’re some kind of awful reminder of what can happen when a cop gets hurt,” Sixty said. “I don’t want you working there because… I don’t like the idea of walking into work everyday and seeing that you’re there, at the front desk or filing stuff, when you should be at your desk next to mine but you can’t because I couldn’t stop you from getting hurt.”

“That’s not on you, Richie.”

Sixty shrugged. “And… the embarrassment, it’s not _towards_ you but it’s more… I’m not sure if you could see them because you were keeping yourself busy, but the other cops were giving you looks. And it was embarrassing.”

“Why?” Connor prodded, trying to keep himself emotionally neutral. He’d freaked out once already - perhaps rightfully so - but he’d had his freak out already and everyone had suffered the consequences. “What looks?”

“Like they pitied you. Everyone there knows what you were, and what we’re capable of, and they looked at you with pity, or sadness, or like you were something that needed to be coddled. And you’re not, Connor. They don’t get to see what I have to everyday, and yeah, maybe you can’t outrun a car or tackle someone down a fire escape, but maybe no one should be built to do those things.”

“Richie?”

“What I mean,” Sixty took a breath to steady himself from rambling, “is that they don’t see all the other badass things you still do. Maybe you’re not action-packed like me anymore, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t be caught dead in a room full of screaming children. You had almost all of your abilities stripped away, and instead of focusing on that like I would have, you’ve got a whole damn lists of things that you can still do to keep going. And no one at the DPD will ever see or understand that.”

“I think I understand,” Connor mused.

“I couldn’t stop you getting hurt, I couldn’t fix you, and I can’t protect you from what assholes at the bullpen are going to think.”

“You can’t control all that,” Connor said. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to take on so much. It’s no wonder you were so pissed and angry and exploded like that.”

Sixty scrubbed tiredly at his face, swinging up and over the bed until he was seated on the long end, back to Connor’s, Dotty squirming her way until she lay between them. “If I say sorry, is that enough?”

“From you?” Connor asked. “Yeah, sorry is enough.”

The deviant nodded. “Good, because I technically already said it.”

“Asshole.”

“Always,” Sixty said. “Connor, I-”

“I get it,” Connor interrupted. “I’m still pissed at what you said earlier, but I’m glad you told me what you were really trying to say. But I think I’m allowed to be pissed for a little while longer.”

“Fair ‘nouf.”

“And I get control over the remote tonight.”

Sixty shook his head. “Nines already took that over. You can have my pick tomorrow.”

Connor nodded. He scratched at Dotty, making sure that he got the special area that made her hind leg spasm and kick Sixty in the shin. Smirking, he spared his brother a glance. “You know I don’t expect you to protect me like that. It’s too much for anyone to think they can take on so much.”

“I look out for both my little brothers,” Sixty said. “I just don’t have to look like I enjoy it.”

Connor snorted, than paused. “I’m the oldest.”

“That’s what you think.”

“I _literally_ have an earlier activation date than you. _And_ an earlier deviation date,” Connor ticked off.

“Proof or it didn’t happen.”

“I have a maintenance manual several months older than you!”

“Several- it’s like one month older. In humans you could have been the premature twin and I would have been the healthy, on time twin,” Sixty pointed out.

“Still. Older!”

From the living room, Sumo lifted his head as the occupants of the couch turned towards the sound of squabbling RK800’s. Nines paused the movie, glancing towards Hank anxiously.

The man smirked. “’Bout time they made up.”

\---

In the course of three days Connor had gone from happy, to pissed, to hospitalized, to anxious, to melancholic, to content and happy and resting, to pissed again.

“Once I’ve figured out which of you staged this intervention,” he glared at the others gathered in the living room, “I’ll think of something. Not nice. To do and-or say to you.”

“This isn’t an intervention,” Markus said.

“Of course not,” Simon agreed. “Markus wanted to check up on you, and I was bored and decided to tag along. Besides, interventions are supposed to be one’s whole family. This is just us, and Hank, and Nines.”

“Sixty is in the kitchen.”

“Eating!” the twin’s voice rang out. “Technically not part of the group.”

“See?” Simon smiled pleasantly. “Now, as we were saying-”

“Nines, these day-olds are dry as shit,” Sixty interrupted from the kitchen. He appeared in the threshold, grumpily holding a myriad of treats in his hands - each with one bite removed.

“They’re technically three-day olds,” Nines explained.

Sixty glared at one of the baked goods in his hands, as if utterly betrayed. He popped it in his mouth regardless.

“As we were saying-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor rolled his eyes. “You’ve all come here to _not_ intervene but only collectively tell me that I’m not allowed in the shadow program anymore.”

“Of course not,” Nines said quickly. “No one’s telling you you’re out of the program, we’re simply… simply…”

“Christ’s sake,” Hank muttered. “ _Simply_ tellin’ ya that until we know you’re more stable, and _I’m_ more comfortable with you doing something more manual, you’re gonna have to be a lot pickier about what jobs you’re gonna choose.”

Connor huffed, ignoring as Dotty pressed comfortingly into his side. “And you want me to run ideas past you from now on, is that it? Weren’t you the one who banned me from using certain words, especially the words “shadow” and “program?””

“The shadow program is about freedom of choice,” Markus clarified. “And no one wants to control your future, or what you want to try your hand at, but…”

Markus trailing off was a surefire sign that the conversation was about to take a twist Connor was certainly not going to enjoy.

“But…” Connor prodded.

“As your father said, until we know the constant changes and experiences are not going to cause undue stress on your body as it seems it did this time, perhaps…” Markus paused for a moment. “You might be willing to consider some shadow sessions closer to home?”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “How close?”

Simon spoke up, “New Jericho has a lot of the same opportunities that you might have considered outside of it.”

“Oh my God,” Connor pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nines pat his lap. “It’s not all bad, Connor. We’ll always know where you are in case something happened, and you’d be working with our friends or at least people you might know in passing.”

“You want me to be babysat,” Connor clarified, “Under the constant, watchful eye of our friends. Making sure I’m not working too much, or doing something you wouldn’t like.”

“You had a heart attack having an argument with your brother,” Hank clarified further in a no-nonsense tone. “I’d for one like to make sure it’s not gonna explode at any moment, and have some good people we know nearby in case it does.”

“No one is going to make you do something you don’t agree with,” Markus said. “We’re only offering a suggestion for the time being. You still have a choice.”

“Yeah, you gotta choice,” Hank butted in again. “You can _choose_ to do what I’m saying, or ya can choose to leave the program until I say you’re healthy enough.”

“I didn’t think we were going to go here,” Simon said lowly.

Hank flipped a hand nonchalantly. “But here we are.”

“You’re not being fair, Hank,” Connor said. “I am an adult, you can’t force me to-”

“Forgive me if I don’t count _under the age of five_ an adult, I told you-”

“- _legally_ you have no control over-”

“-you really wanna argue law right now, Connor, cuz I swear to God-”

“-I know my limits and I don’t need anyone else controlling me. I’ve dealt with enough of that in the-”

“-Don’t you dare try to play that-”

Dotty barked, _loud_ , demanding silence in the same way Nines’ quiet voice would. Connor flinched, pressing a finger to his chest as a painful twinge caught his breath. The dog lay her head on his knee, eyeing him warily.

“Connor?” Nines asked from his side.

He rubbed out the tightness, frowning deeper once he was able to cross his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“You agree?” Markus asked carefully.

“I’ll follow your stupid rules.”

“They’re for your own good, Con,” Hank added. “This isn’t forever, just until-”

“I agreed,” Connor stated firmly, rising to his feet. Blinking a few times, he snapped his fingers for Dotty to follow and left the room. Nines’ bed was always a good pouting spot. He had the softest pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of an interlude, but Connor is gonna have to deal with some more limitations for awhile. He pushed himself too fast and too far too soon after his injury, and the fight with Sixty didn’t help matters either.
> 
> I’m also pretty happy that I managed to get the scene with them making up done with as well! I love scenes were siblings fight, especially big fights, but it makes me anxious when it drags on too long between “I hate you” and “I hate you but I’m always here for you, dummy.”
> 
> Next time we’re gonna start seeing different careers Connor can try from within New Jericho itself! There will be more Markus, more Simon, and absolutely more North and more Josh, as well as some Josh/Nines… hopefully xD As much as I surprsingly ship them for this story, I don’t think I’ve done more than tease the two of them with a puppy-love crush. Lol
> 
> Also apologies for how long it took to come out with this! I am packing up my apartment because I’m leaving for basic training in a few weeks (so if there is not an update for several months, its cuz my laptop is in storage xD) and also work was crazy busy this week so I’ve barely had time to clean/pack/downsize let alone relax with some writing.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, please kudos/comment if you’d like!! :D


	10. Artist...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Vague discriptions of someone being sick. Descriptions of past injuries, chronic pain.

If his shoulders tensed up any more they would brush against his ear lobes. Connor was tense, dizzy, nauseous. His heart would race painfully at times, and when it wasn’t, his chest was as tight as his shoulders.

Still wasn’t nearly as bad as his first go with artificial heart problems.

“You look like shit,” Hank commented blandly as he chewed a granola bar. The good kind, with little chocolate and peanut butter chips and high fructose corn syrup.

“’M fine,” Connor muttered as he slammed a cupboard shut, banged a glass on the counter, and grabbed the orange juice recently abandoned by one of his siblings. “Just need to eat something. Dotty, move.”

The dog obliged, shifting a half inch to the right so he could snag a towel from the stove and place it over the small amount of juice that had splattered on the counter. Since his attack, she had stayed by his side every second of the day. If she wasn’t hovering a few inches nearby, some part of her frame was physically against his own. She slept with her nose pressed into him, sat or lay down on his feet, and even whacked him with her tail whenever she felt like - although Connor felt she did that more through irritation at his urge to push himself.

“Bullshit,” Hank said. “You haven’t been feeling good since they upped your meds last week. No one’d care if you took a few more days to rest.”

“I care,” Connor said as he took a defiant sip of his orange juice. He grimaced, quickly setting it back down. “Do we have anything else in the fridge?”

“Apple juice?”

“Finished it last night,” Connor sighed. He attempted another sip, feeling it churn within him no sooner had he swallowed. He dumped the rest of the liquid down the sink and rinsed out the glass. Every movement spiteful.

“I really think-”

“I took a week off,” the counter felt cool as he pressed heavily against it. He turned, slowly, half to keep his gyroscope steady and half in irritation. “I’ve rested, I’m following your frankly _ridiculous_ limitations regarding the shadow program. I’m _fine_.”

Sniffing, Hank scratched at his beard. Connor wasn’t sure what angered him more - the fact the he knew he was pissing Hank off by choosing to live his own life, or the fact that the hot-tempered human refused to raise his voice at the android. Speaking firmly at times, but never with the typical fury he once treated both Sixty and himself to when they were being little shits or something out of line.

“Remind me what you’re doing today?” the older man asked after a moment of thought.

“Well, since you’ve succeeded in turning my few friends against me-”

“No one is against you, Connor.”

“Markus has suggested I _ease in_ with something _gentle_ by shadowing with him,” Connor said. “At first I thought it might be more office assisting or proofreading his speeches, maybe assisting in law research, but apparently those are considered too _stressful_ ,” he air quoted, “to begin with.”

“So…” Hank said, “what are you doing?”

Connor shrugged. “He told me not to worry about it, just show up to his original home by noon.”

“The mini-mansion?” Hank smirked. “When you do get over there, be good. Maybe we’re all get invited later on. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one of them rich houses.”

Connor rolled his eyes, but could not find it within himself to lighten his mood. Nines emerged from the hallway, straightening his shirt. As Sixty was still working a bad case from last night, the house seemed unusually quiet, and Connor was grateful that their days would be busy and separate to reduce the tension between them. 

“I’m ready to go when you are, dad,” Nines announced.

“Lemme grab my jacket,” Hank said. “Left it in my room.”

“You had all morning to get it!” Nines exclaimed softly, smirking as their father darted off to grab his coat. “Good morning, Connor.”

“Morning,” Connor leaned back on the cupboards, pouting.

“Feeling better?” his brother asked kindly.

Connor glared, eyes narrowing before quickly dulling. It was impossible to hold a pointed, angry glare towards the gentle android. “I’m fine, Nines. Sick and tired of everyone acting like I need to be coddled, but fine.”

Nines nodded understandingly. Making his way across the kitchen, he pulled a brown paper bag from the corner of the counter and held it out to his older, yet shorter, brother.

“What this?”

“Nothing much,” Nines said. “A few day olds, a juice box, and I’ve been experimenting with the chocolate-chip muffin recipe I know you like and wanted to get your thoughts on the new ratios. There’s three different tests in there, but I’m sure you can figure out which is which.”

Connor took the bag, opening it enough to peek. It was as heavy as it was stuffed with all kind of baked goods, and one sorry looking juice box buried deep beneath crumbs and smears of jam and chocolate.

“You packed me a lunch?” Connor asked, struggling and failing to suppress the touched feeling warming his chest.

“No,” Nines clarified. “I’m guilt tripping you into eating something today.”

Connor scoffed, setting the bag on the counter so he wouldn’t squish its contents when he crossed his arms. “Why am I the only one who gets to see the smart-assed side of you?”

Nines smiled pleasantly. From the hallway, a sharp, semi-whispered curse cut through the room.

“Gimme a minute,” Hankk cussed again. “Can’t find my fuckin’ keys.”

“You put them in your pants pocket last night,” Nines suggested.

“Yes!” the distant voice said triumphantly. “Shit, I mean no.”

“We collected dirty clothes for the wash last night.”

“Shit!”

“The wash has not been started yet.”

Connor and Nines shared a grin as Hank came pounding down the hallway, darting into the garage for the washing machine and laundry baskets.

His LED spinning yellow, Connor stood upright when his HUD alerted him of a notification. “My cab’s here, I gotta go.”

“Be careful,” Nines said.

Snapping for Dotty, Connor muttered as he crossed by. “Not like any of you are giving me a choice.”

Hank had yet to emerge from the laundry pile as Connor neatly tugged the blue vest over the dalmatian’s back and snapped a leash on. Nines busied himself with collecting leftover breakfast dishes from Hank and himself, brushing crumbs to the floor to be dealt with later. As he turned towards the sink, he spied a hefty brown paper bag crumpling under its own weight.

“Connor, wait, you forgot your-”

The front door clicked shut, and the cab had pulled away by the time Nines reached the living room window. Hank emerged, keys in hands.

“Ready to go?”

Paper bag in hand, Nines nodded.

\---

Connor had wrangled with small children, driven tractors, handled difficult customers, and endured two different medical emergencies regarding his artificial heart at varying levels of severity. More than that, he had been both a cop and detective for the city of Detroit, been both a pivotal helper and antagonist pre-Revolution, and survived a suicide mission in which he’d led thousands if not millions of his own kind as reinforcement to claim their freedom.

In short, he was a bad ass son of a bitch that had survived more than his fair share of events in less than three years of life. And, reflecting on all of these past experiences in the backseat of a sticky city cab with a warm dog in his lap, Connor could confirm that he had never felt more anxious or out of place than he currently was watching multi-millionaire home after multi-millionaire mansion roll by.

In his lifetime Connor had known three different places to sleep, or be forced into sleep mode. Cyberlife had kept him in what he could only describe as half-tube half closet, tucked into a rounded pod without room to move and slid into the wall for easy storage like modern homes tucked away clothing. The other two were the couch and his bunk bed. Out here in the rich outskirts of Detroit, each home could not have had less than four or five bedrooms apiece, and that went without mentioning the walk-in closets, the offices, the one or two giant kitchens, basements and wine cellars, living rooms, activity rooms, parlors, and whatever else rich people sequestered into different rooms.

“What are the chances Markus is having me shadow as a maid for Carl?” Connor stroked a silky ear. Dotty shifted, rolling her eyes to look up at him. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, either.”

All too soon, the cab began to decelerate before a modest sized mansion - an oxymoron if there ever was. The extravagant home on 8941 Lafayette Ave was tall, two stories, and wider than any single home Connor had witnessed before. Built up in warm, brown brick, the Manfred residence was as inviting as it was intimidating. It spread in unique shapes houses did not typically come built in, such as octagonal terraces and sun rooms contrasted with white siding.

The door of the cab clicked open, and a merry chime binged to welcome him to his arrival. Connor snorted at the blatant pampering if the rich - even the cabs were nicer our here. Which did not entirely make sense, as Connor had ordered the car from the same place he always did, and it was its typical dinginess on the inside, and he had not given it the address until after he had gotten inside. But here it was, pinging a gentle tune in sharp contrast to the harsh bonging he was normally subject to.

“Best behavior,” Connor reminded both himself and Dotty as they exited the public vehicle. It shut its own door before hurrying off back towards the city.

Most driveways Connor had encountered were short. They led to a garage, and there was sometimes a walkway between the car and the front door or one simply cut across the grass. Out in the elite, super-suburban areas, the driveways were long and looping and almost an entire cul-de-sac on their own. He momentarily regretted having the cab drop them off by the road as he and Dotty walked down the lengthy, curved driveway.

He took a moment at the front door, catching his breath. Using the panting seconds, he gave a final look to their surroundings. A small sprouting of tall trees offered privacy from the distant neighbors, who were also protected by a line of trees, and blocked visibility from the road from nosy passers-by.

Taking a deep breath, Connor knocked on the ornate door. It was foolish, but he felt he made it dirtier by touching it, as if it wasn’t a door exposed to the elements.

Within seconds, the front door opened to the widely smiling face of Marcus.

“Connor!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “Come inside. How was the trip?”

Connor quirked an eyebrow. “Less than thirty minutes?”

Marcus grinned. “Yeah, you’re right, dumb question. How are you doing?”

“ _Welcome, guest_ ,” a disembodied voice spoke from above, startling Connor before he could reply.

“That’s the door, don’t worry,” Marcus said.

“Your door… welcomes you home?” Connor asked.

Marcus shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, why wouldn’t it?”

“No reason…” Connor stated.

Glancing around, his visual receptors were assaulted with an array of colors and patterns and shapes in the best way.The floor was sleek and checker patterned with a rather garish zebra-print rug tossed in the middle. Faux fur, thankfully. Odd skulls and decorative masks covered the wall going up the stairs, while the stairs themselves were pained in large swoops of spotted colors. The ceiling and accent wall were painted the same, black and white zig-zags, and cut off into a pale image of what could be assumed to be either the pale face of a human or android woman due to the coloring and hues.

Markus grinned as he watched Connor look about, eyes darting here and there, rapidly scanning and trying to take in as much data in as many ways possible. “I forgot, you haven’t been out here, have you?”

Connor shook his head, eyes landing on an empty golden birdcage in front of a large mirror. He looked back to Markus, not wanting to see his tired appearance in the glass.

“Why don’t I give you a quick tour before we get started?” Markus suggested. “First floor only, there’s nothing upstairs but bedrooms and offices, anyways.”

He spoke so passively about having an entire floor of bedrooms, as if he didn’t know Connor shared a bedroom with two other androids. Unless, perhaps Connor hadn’t told him that. Sleeping arrangement weren’t typically normal topics of friendly chatter.

“I had no idea you could mix so many patterns together in one room. Cohesively,” Connor said. “Hank has several shirts that attempt to blend similar patterns but for some reason those don’t work as well as this.”

Markus laughed. “Art can be funny that way. Just a warning, Carl prefers more of an open floor plan so there are not as many room in here as one would think from looking at the outside. Mainly, we have the kitchen, a large living area, the studio, and then a small sunroom on the opposite side leading into the garden. The kitchen is over there, and please, let me know if you want anything from it, it’s always open. And over here-”

“Holy shit.”

Connor clapped a hand over his mouth as his father channeled himself through his vocal box.

Markus snorted. “I promise, you’re not the first to have that reaction. Over here is my-”

“There’s a giraffe in here. I’ve never seen one in person.”

“And you still haven’t, not really. It’s fake and Carl won’t tell me the _deeply personal_ reasons he had in purchasing it,” Markus explained. “But, over here is my fav-”

“What kind of skeleton is that?” Connor interrupted. He darted forward so quickly Dotty was forced to remain a few feet behind until she caught up. “My scanners are reading it as some kind of prehistoric fish?”

“Possibly. No animals, skeletal or otherwise, were ever alive in this house. Although, Carl does keep a human skull in one of the rooms,” Markus said. “Right here is-”

“That is amazing,” Connor blurted, turning from item to item to display to giant mural until his eyes landed on the holographic fish tank. Turning around again, his eyes widened. “Holy crap that is a lot of books.”

“My favorite part of the house,” Markus finished behind a smirk. “There’s also a telescope I have never seen him use right up there, and a chess table in front of the window over there. Do you play?”

“Never tried,” Connor admitted. “Although, I was under the impression that this is supposedly an “official shadow” session.”

“Of course,” Markus said dismissively. “Although I should warn you, I kind of went ahead and invited the others to join us later.”

“Others?"

“Simon, Josh, North,” Markus listed. “It’s so rare that all of us have off at the same time, and we’ve never all hung out here at once, so I thought it might be nice to have a late lunch-early dinner thing while we all had the opportunity.”

“Oh.”

“Of course, you don’t need to stay if you’re uncomfortable… or not feeling well.”

“I’m feeling fine,” Connor’s eyes narrowed. He shifted as Dotty pressed heavily into his side. “I am curious what you’re going to have me doing today. You were rather cryptic when we spoke.”

“I wasn’t certain how you’d respond if I was completely up front,” Markus said apologetically. “You’ve never described yourself as the artistic type, but I wanted to gauge your response in person and this was the only way I could think of.”

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me we’re not painting.”

Remaining still, Markus paused. “We could do some sketching instead?”

“Ugh, I had a feeling it was going to be something like this,” Connor groaned. “Markus, I can’t paint anything. Painting isn’t even a real job.”

“Excuse me?”

Connor started as another voice came unexpectedly, this time from behind. Carl Manfred sat neatly in the entryway to the studio Markus had pointed out earlier, a few spots of fresh paint drying on his knee.

“I think I’ve done quite well for myself, despite not having a real job,” Carl stated.

Swallowing thickly, Connor stammered. “I- Sir, that’s not what I meant, sir. I meant-”

“Perhaps you meant that becoming a successful artist is not likely to pay well, and that people such of myself are an anomaly in the workforce?” Carl suggested. “Because in that case, you’d be exactly right.”

“S-sir?”

“Please, “sir” was my father, and he’s dead,” Carl said. “I thought you said this one had more spunk to him, Markus.”

“I think you scared him,” Markus teased.

“I’m not scared,” Connor said sharply. He whirled back to the older Manfred. “You don’t scare me. You simply… caught me off guard. And truly, I meant no disrespect, but whether or not artist is a real career or not, I’m simply not cut out for it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Carl said. “Both of you in here, and bring the dog. But take off the leash. I can’t stand seeing anything chained up.”

Neatly unclipping Dotty and tucking away her leash, the two androids followed the eccentric man into the studio. A room that, while exactly what one might expect from a private art studio, was much more impressive in person than Connor thought it would have been. Mannequins of different states of disarray were half built and lain against the wall. Paint splattered the wall and floor and counter tops and desks and every visible, tangible surface. Canvases of every size, from the size of Dotty’s ear to eight times the eight and width of Nines, were strewn about both finished and unfinished. And, on one of the display shelves, Connor scanned a skull - authentic human.

“You, set up those easels besides that table there. And Markus, get some blank canvases. A whole stack.” Carl ordered easily.

Markus obliged, loudly whispering, “His name’s Connor,” as he passed by.

“I know what his name is,” Carl scoffed. “You talk about him enough, you don’t give me half a minute long enough to forget it.”

Twin blue blushes crept across the androids’ neck and faces as they busied themselves according to Carl’s design.

“Now the colors,” Carl said. “You can take whatever you want, Markus. But Connor, you’ll only get the primary three: red, blue, and yellow.”

“I’m only allowed to use three?” Connor asked as he accepted a palette. Between the two easels was a small table with a heavily splattered paint cup of water filled with different types of brushes. The more he looked around, the more lost he felt. “I don’t even know anything that’s only these colors… except one of Hank’s shirts.”

“You can use whatever colors you want,” Carl explained. “So long as you only use those three colors.”

It was a wrap around way of telling him he could mix the colors to form secondary and tertiary colors. Great. So he was only limited by his own ability.

“Here,” Markus said as he approached from behind, sliding a tall stool behind Connor and another behind his own station.

Connor sat, silently grateful to get off his feet, while Markus elected to stand on one leg and wrap his other through the prongs of the stool. Without prompting, he stared at his empty canvas for a few moments. Then, he took up a brush, lightly applied a color to the bristles, paused before the canvas, and steadily applied a thin, even stroke.

On the other side of the room, Carl had returned to his earlier project. The outline of a face, made up of many outlines of faces and the outline of a skull done in a contrasting color. The elderly human touched up here and there, brightening a white line, evening out the color of the upper left corner, dulling a fluorescent blue into a bright blue.

“So…” Connor flinched as his voice came unnaturally loud in the large, quiet room. Dotty’s collar jingled disapprovingly at his noise. “We’re simply supposed to begin? No instruction at all?”

“Do you need instruction?” Carl asked. “No one here can tell you what to paint, unless you’re referring to how to transfer the paint onto the canvas?”

“Of course not.”

“A refresher on simple shapes?” Carl asked. “You were a police android once. If I were to describe to you a criminal’s appearance, would you be able to sketch him for me?”

Connor nodded eagerly. “I was built with a forensic sketch program, yes.”

“Excellent,” Carl smiled. “Turn it off.”

“What?”

“Turn it off. Depend only on what you can do, unassisted. Your own imagination, creativity, emotions, your own view on the world…” Watching the ex-detective android’s eyes begin to glaze over the harder he tried to understand. “Or, if you wanted to be simple and boring, no one would fault you if you did a still-life. Find something around you and copy it down as you see it.”

The amount of distaste in Carl’s voice as he suggested the later easily clued the lost Connor that maybe he shouldn’t do the bowl of fake fruit in the corner. Or Dotty. She was still enough, but too realistic and right there to paint if he was going to meet Carl’s expectations.

Alright. He could do this. As the room fell back into silence, the only sound the occasional hum of thought or the gentle stroke of hair on canvas, Connor turned his full focus to the task at hand. He would approach this the same way he tackled every problem he wasn’t certain of - by breaking it down into digestible chunks.

First, assess his tools. He had water, a cleaning cloth, paint brushes, a blank canvass, and the three primary colors. From those he could get every other color excluding the ones that needed white - like pink or lavender. He could dilute to a certain extent with the water, opening up more shades and hues.

So he had access to what he needed, he simply did not know how to utilize them. To his left, Markus had gone for realism. He practiced his skill at landscapes, creating a forested scene deep in the woods at an upward angle, showing both the perspective of the ground, the height of the trees, and a clear blue sky. As per his usual style, Carl had continued with his impressionism and abstract art.

Maybe, if he could start with a single line, he would not only look like he was doing something, he would have a starting point to build around. Connor grabbed a paintbrush, gawked at the wide bristles, and stuck it back in exchange for a thin brush and normal tip.

That left color. Red was too bright, yellow was too light against the white canvas, so that left blue. He dipped it in, a little thicker than he had planned, for as soon as he pressed the tip to the canvas it slipped down the textured surface, glooping in a heavy drip.

It looked like thirium.

He dipped in the blue again, using less paint, and made a more deliberate stroke that mimicked the accidental drop of blue blood. And another. And another.

Accidentally, he dipped in the red pain and messed up the line. No longer was it a drop of blood, but an oddly curved line. An oddly curved line that… looked like the back of a head. Or a skull, like the one Carl kept in the corner of the room. A visual reference, but not so much that Carl would think he copied it without thought.

Line by line, stroke by stroke, the paint built up. The colors blended and swirled together, becoming more abstract than he had intended but worked in the same way the myriad of patterns worked in the vestibule of the mansion. The paint built up, the blue blood at some point had been mirrored with red droplets that smeared in certain places into a macabre purple.

He barely noticed he had fallen into a trance of dip, stroke, dip, stroke, dip, stroke before a tap at his shoulder awakened him from the spell.

“Huh?’ Connor blinked, suddenly realizing how dry his eyes felt. “Markus?”

“Sorry,” the android leader started with an apology, “I wanted to check on you earlier but Carl said you shouldn’t interrupt an artist while they’re in the zone.”

“Not an artist,” Connor mumbled as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes and numb face. He checked the time, only two hours had passed since they started. Longer than he thought, but not long enough to feel as if he’d sat at a desk all day staring at a computer screen filling out long reports only to stand up after sitting for twelve straight hours. “Why do I feel so exhausted? I’ve done nothing but sit here the whole time.”

“It’s normal when you exercise a new muscle,” Carl supplied helpfully from besides Markus’ half finished forest scene.

“I think I’ve worked with my hands and arms before,” Connor snorted.

“I was referring to your creativity muscle,” Carl said. “How often have you needed to depend on your pure skills in creativity in the past?”

Connor shrugged. “Police and detective work actually requires a good amount of creativity… But as an android with preconstructive software, I don’t think I’ve ever had to depend on it or my imagination for much of anything before.”

Carl nodded. “Alright, let’s see what you boys got done over here.”

Flinching, Connor suppressed the urge to cover his work with his arms. “Do we have to?”

“It’s all part of the process,” Markus said.

“How else are you going to host gallery viewings if you won’t let anyone see your work…” Carl trailed off. “Actually, I’m sure if I invited the right people, they’d pay a crap ton to go to something like that. Might even get some of them to buy works like a blind grab bag.”

Markus smirked. “Already made a note of it.”

He stepped out of the way as Carl wheeled himself closer, first observing Markus’ piece.

“Not bad,” he said. “But what else am I gonna expect from you? Your bottom-up perspective is interesting, and you’re getting a lot better at your realism without looking like an android painted it from their programs.”

“Could use some more work,” Markus admitted. “But hopefully the mistakes I’m seeing can be fixed with some touch ups.”

“Remember what I told you about mistakes,” Carl said. “Gives it character. Don’t get rid of too many or you’ll lose that.”

Markus nodded in agreement. Carl continued over to Connor, who fidgeted nervously until Dotty became nervous as well. She panted loudly, still attached to him at the calf, her sides swelling and shrinking as she breathed rapidly.

Carl hummed, nodding in immediate approval. “You’ve got a solid base here. A little rough, but that’s to be expected with a first attempt. The colors are good, quite uniform.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, in both sincerity and not really understand what was being complimented. The whole thing looked rough to him. Wobbly and uneven.

“What is it?”

“Carl!”

Connor grimaced. “Uh-”

“Come on, Markus, I’m not that cruel,” Carl chuckled. “It’s _clearly_ an abstract skull and the blood - both human and android - is easily observed. I meant what is it to you, Connor. The meaning behind it. What inspired you, the emotions behind it.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Connor could only shrug. “I’m not… Entirely sure, to be honest. I made a line and it looked like thirium, and then I saw your skull in the corner and thought it might work. It kind of came together on its own.”

“Cathartic?” Carl asked, receiving a hesitant nod. “Not all art has to be in-depth. It can simply be done out of relaxation or enjoyment. Personally, I like it, and think you could become quite talented with enough focus. The creativity and imagination and emotion are there, you simply need to learn how to utilize it.”

“Maybe,” Connor took in his own work. The more he looked, it never looked better, it still looked amateur and wobbly, but it grew on him. “Maybe as a hobby. Not sure though. I know I couldn’t do this as a career. No offense.”

“You’re too uptight to be a free-spirited artist,” Carl observed. “In the best way, of course. Or you could take all this advice you’ve been gathering from me, Markus, and whoever else you’ve been working with and tell us all to fuck off.”

“O-okay,” Markus said. “That was a little sudden.”

Connor smiled, more at ease with brashness thanks to Hank. “My father has similar advice. Or, anti-advice, I suppose.”

“Look at me. A tatted up, ex-junkie just so happened to get attention for throwing some paint at paper when better, more deserving artists were forced to get a regular nine-to-five. I’m not whimsical, energetic, aloof, or what anyone imagines when they think of an abstract artist,” Carl said proudly. “And I told everyone to fuck off, did what I wanted, and got incredibly lucky. If you want to go off and become, I don’t know, a rancher or some shit - maybe don’t. Can’t fit a dog on a horse, but tell me to fuck off and do it anyways.”

“Or don’t,” Markus reinstated. “Since health also plays into this.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Carl gave a final nod. “Good. Training out of the way, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving. You boys can get back to work after lunch.”

Taking hold of Carl’s chair, Markus easily pushed the older man from the room with Connor and Dotty tailing behind. “Would you like me to prepare something for us?” he asked.

“Sure. You can prepare by getting me my phone, we’re ordering out,” Carl said firmly. “Or, since I’m paralyzed not an invalid, I can go get my own phone why you boys figure out what you want. You know the place I like.” He said before taking control of his own wheels and pushing himself out of the room.

“Despite being on quite opposite sides of the spectrum,” Connor observed, “I believe our fathers are quite similar.”

“I’d noticed,” Markus chuckled. “Do you think they’d enjoy meeting each other, or would that be a disaster doomed from the start?”

Connor hummed. “It’s difficult to tell. I suppose we’ll only have to get them in one room together and see what happens.”

Markus smirked a moment. “Oh, here.”

Connor blinked rapidly as he received a message from the android next to him. “What this?”

“The menu to Carl’s favorite place. It’s Vietnamese. The authentic stuff is good but Carl claims the other half of the menu is bastardized,” Markus said.

“I don’t need that, but thank you,” Connor said. “You said we’re having dinner with the others later, I’m good for now.”

“You’ve been here awhile,” Markus pressed. “And Carl will be upset if you don’t let him order you something.”

“Like my father,” Connor muttered again. “And my brothers. It seems like everyone’s been trying to force food down my throat this week.” He sat down on the sofa, patting Dotty as she took a firm seat next to him on the floor.

Markus sat down across from him. “That’s because you look tired and like you don’t feel well. It makes people, I dunno, want to tuck you into bed and feed you soup.”

“Do you feel like that, too?” Connor dared.

While he expected perhaps a teasing or truthful answer, he did not expect the blue flush to engulf Markus’ neck and creep up his ears as he rubbed at his cheek briefly. “Honestly, yes, but it’s probably leftover caretaker software in my coding.”

Connor hummed, nodding slightly. He pat Dotty again.

“Well?”

“Hmm?”

“Carl’s going to be back in a minute and he’s going to be on the phone, making sure to pressure us into picking something,” Markus said. “He does it to everyone who visits during lunch.”

Grumbling, Connor blinked rapidly as he pulled up the menu Markus had forced at him. Living with a human who believed that fine dining was getting a double order of wings and an extra large everything pizza from the expensive pizzeria downtown, nothing looked familiar. “I don’t know any of this. I guess whatever you like is fine.”

Markus nodded, thankfully changing the subject and allowing Connor loose at the multitude of bookshelves surrounding the room. Later, when the delivery came, Connor discovered the forced lunch he was treated to was an order of chicken pho. He still wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but it was warm and soothing and tasted almost exactly like chicken soup but lighter and filling at the same time. He made plans to make his siblings and Hank order Vietnamese food at least half as often as they ordered pizzas.

Unfortunately he was not able to finish the bowl, eating less than Carl could, and was denied from assisting in cleanup.

“I can handle a few disposable cups,” Carl waved them off. “You boys go finish up your work.”

It only took another half hour for Connor to set aside his paintbrush.

“Finished?” Markus hummed, eyes not leaving his piece. Thankfully, the “artists should be focused and not talk” rule only applied when Carl was working, and the two would rise and fall into moments of conversation and silence.

“Mm-hmm,” Connor nodded. “It’s as good as it’s getting. I’m glad you talked me into learning, but I’m not sure how many more times I might try painting in the future.”

“Fair enough,” Markus said. “I am almost done, just a little bit here…” He trailed off a moment, touching up something that looked better once he was done but had looked fine to Connor before. “Oh, you don’t have to stay in here if you don’t want to. Carl’s in the house, and there’s books, and… I’m being incredibly rude. Let me-”

“I’d like to watch you,” Connor cut in quickly. “Continue painting. If… that’s okay.”

“Course it is,” Markus smiled. “If you get bored feel free to let me know.”

Scooting his stool back until it went against the island counter, Connor neatly tucked his legs inside the stool and watched as Markus continued to work. He made it look so effortless, but at the same time he also showed that painting could be a job to some, complete with all the struggles and hardships every career came with. His strokes were masterful, but you could see the moment he felt stuck and paused to figure out his next steps. Truly mesmerizing to watch.

Until fifteen minutes had passed and Connor felt his rear began to adhere to the stool. He began to fiddle with a scrap sheet of paper, and roll a nearby pen. At first he doodled his name a few times, testing how straight and even he could make the words with and without his writing program on. Then he flipped it over, thought a moment, and wrote down a series of words without thinking. Merely letting the words pop up at his fingers, barely giving them a thought before putting them down. Words became sentences. Sentences became a paragraph. Two paragraphs. He was halfway through a third when he both ran out of paper and realized there was a presence watching him from behind.

“Is this how I made you feel watching you paint?” Connor asked over his shoulder.

“Maybe a bit,” Markus shrugged. “I tried calling you earlier but you seemed zoned out again, so I started cleaning up.”

“Oh… I should have helped.”

“It was rinsing a palette, nothing too strenuous,” Markus promised. “What were you working on?”

“Nothing, really,” Connor shrugged. He slid over the paper without hesitation as Markus silently asked. “I was thinking about the book we were looking at earlier, and I suppose I did get a little bored.”

Markus’ eyebrows furrowed as he read. “Is this… something that you’ve personally experienced?”

Connor shook his head. “No, just something that came to me and, like I said, I was bored and wrote it down. Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Markus said as he handed it back. “I seriously believe you should continue with it. Have you done something like this before? The writing?”

“I’ve written reports before,” Connor said. “Never something fake.”

“Fiction,” Markus said. “I liked it. What was there, anyways.”

“We’ll see,” Connor shrugged. “Was there anything else that needed cleaning up in here?”

Markus shook his head. “Nope, all good. And in time, as Simon texted me around five minutes ago telling me they’re on their way. Should be another fifteen before they get here. But, you could help me start setting things up in the kitchen?”

For large groups, Markus showed, foods easy to make and distribute were best. Hence the cold cut sandwiches and bowls of chips, pretzels, and assorted snack foods and drinks they put together for the arrival of the others.

Looking over everything, Markus gave a satisfied nod. “Oh, wait. Can you grab the hot sauce from the fridge?”

“For sandwiches?”

“It’s a North thing,” Markus said.

That made sense, Connor obliged before calling back, “Which one?”

“Both!”

No sooner had the two bottles of hot sauces been placed on the table did the front door chime before opening, prompting the front door to call out, “ _Welcome, Simon. Welcome, Josh. Welcome, guest._ ”

“Markus, did you not put me in the system yet?” an irate voice filled the house.

Markus pushed open the connecting door, “Must have slipped my mind, North.”

“Eyy!” the energetic woman changed topics faster than a street racer changing lanes. “Connor! There’s the android french fry. We never get to see you anymore.”

“That was incredibly rude,” Josh’s eyes widened.

“Obviously,” Connor agreed. “Which is why North is the only one who can say it.”

“Hell yeah,” North pumped her fist. “Are those sandwiches done yet, Markus? I’m freaking starving.”

“Everything’s set up, we’re going to- a-and there she goes,” Markus shook his head as North pushed by, bee-lining for the food. “I suppose we better start after her.”

“Keep up, suckers,” North confirmed, popping a chip in her mouth. “Hey, Con, your dog able to eat human food?”

“In small quantities,” Connor said. Another chip went sailing past him with deadly accuracy, shooting towards Dotty and into her eager jaws.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff!” North cheered as Dotty sat back down. “Oh, not you, Con. Dotty’s a Hufflepuff. You’re a Slytherin.”

“Those aren’t words. In any language,” Connor said.

North kicked back a chair and plopped down. “Course they are. They’re English.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Simon warned. “Don’t ask questions, don’t continue conversation, pretend you can’t even hear her or she’ll suck you into an eight-movie marathon followed by endless chatter.”

North nodded. “Speaking of which, you seen the movies, Con?”

“What mov-”

“Shh,” Simon snapped, rooted in the fatigue of experience of watching an eight movie marathon. Several times. “Come, sit, make up a plate.”

Markus shared a knowing smirk as Connor rolled his eyes. A plate was pressed into his hand, and he took a small enough amount that he wouldn’t feel bad wasting it but enough people would get off his back. Mainly pretzels. He slipped a few to Dotty, who licked his fingers appreciatively.

The chatter around the table ranged from topic to topic, the comings and goings of New Jericho. The laws that were and were not being passed in their benefit. North tried to slip in more fandom talk. Simon had found jobs for eight more androids that week, and had to kick out the first person from the program for reasons best not discussed but brought fatigue to his eyes and shoulders. Josh was considering extending his psychological outreach to include humans after meeting a human child in need of services such as his own.

It was pleasant , having dinner with friends. Talking. Not worrying about where he was going next or what needed doing, who needed saving. Idle chatter. It was nice.

“By the way, where’s Carl?” Simon asked. “I wanted to discuss the book he lent me last week, as well as wheedle the sequel out if he has it.”

“Help yourself,” Markus gestured towards the huge amount of bookshelves. “Carl believes that books are meant to be shared. And hoarded. But he’s upstairs right now, resting. I don’t know if he’s coming down again today, but if he’s awake later I’m sure he’d love a visit.”

Under the table, Connor felt Dotty shift, and she wasn’t snorking up dropped bits of sandwich North kept purposefully dropping.

“Don’t you dare,” he said under his breath as the dog bonked her nose off his knee.

Dotty huffed a quiet bark, a single, quiet yip. The quiet warning before she’d drop all attempts at being quiet and barking until she had drawn everyone’s attention.

Snapping, he called her to heel and quietly slipped from the table. Mostly unnoticed, and thankfully unquestioned as he slipped through the kitchen where he snagged a bottle of water before entering the downstairs bathroom.

“Alright,” Connor sighed as he couched before the dalmatian. “Let’s get this over with.”

Quickly, he popped out a pill, swallowed it down with a gulp of water, and placed the pill bottle back in its slip. Dotty jerked back as he attempted to zip the pouch.

“What?” he asked innocently, reaching forward again. Dotty yipped, ducking out of his grip. “Dotty, I’m sorry you’ve been cooped up all day, but now isn’t the time to play. I’ll let you run around at home. Glad you’re not mad at me anymore-”

Dotty barked, loudly, as he tried to zip up her medicine pouch a third time. She surged forward, booping her nose against his leg, barking again.

“I took one.”

Dotty barked. Pawed at him. Barked again.

“I’ll take the other one at home,” Connor promised. “I’m not taking two right now. Remind me at home and I swear I’ll take the other. Do I have to program you with an updated schedule, or did you understand-”

Reaching out, Dotty continued to disobey. She weaved around the tiny bathroom, avoiding his grip, barking, pawing at him, outright growling once when he succeeded in grabbing the zipper.

“Ey,” Connor snapped his fingers. “None of that. Be a good girl and… and let me have this.”

Laying on her belly, she whined as she crawled towards him, scraping her nails against his shoes until he pet her ears. Connor sat on the floor, letting Dotty crawl closer and press her nose against him for a scan.

“See? I’m fine, girl. Let me off this once and I won’t fight you again,” Connor negotiated. “I never get to have a night like this. Just relaxing with people I know, where we all like each other. Outside of family. And work. I took the one, but if I take the other one I’m gonna get sick, girl. Please?”

Dotty withdrew, her nose returning to its fleshy black as she began to paw at him in earnest. She bat at his chest, his shin, his arm. Even as an android dog, she didn’t have the greatest motor control. Connor hung his head.

“You’re not gonna let me off, are you?”

She continued whining, high pitched and urgent. Sighing heavily, Connor slowly reached towards the pouch and withdrew the hateful orange bottle. He popped out another pill, swallowed it dry, and took a sip of water anyways for good measure.

“There,” he said sullenly. “You happy?”

Standing still as Connor replaced the bottle and zipped her up, Dotty had no further complaints as Connor rose from the floor. She panted contentedly, leaning into him with a comforting presence.

He pat her side, not feeling especially grateful as he pulled a treat from her pocket as a reward. “You’re a good girl. You got a tough patient, huh? Good girl.”

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as bad as he was dreading. He’d been on doubled medication for a week, his body should begin getting used to it. And the effects weren’t immediate. The side effects came on faster in the morning, but the evening dose sometimes took an hour or two before he began to crave the stillness and comfort of bed.

Exiting the bathroom and returning to the open living-dining room area, Connor was greeted by an unexpected voice in the fray of laughing, chattering androids.

“Nines?” Connor cocked his head as he neared. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” the tall android said sheepishly. “You forgot the lunch I packed this morning, but then Hank told me a bunch of desserts weren’t exactly a good meal, so I doubled up at the bakery today and meant to drop them off for everyone as a treat. I didn’t mean to crash anything.”

“You’re not crashing,” Josh assured quickly. “You’re always welcome here. Or, I mean, I suppose you would be welcome here but it’s not my house to offer. I meant you’re welcome with me- us. With us.”

“Come on, grab a chair,” North encouraged. “There’s a free one right there next to Josh.”

“North,” the co-leader hissed even as his glare turned into a beaming smile as Nines accepted the offer.

“Why don’t we call up Sixty?” Simon suggested. “Get the whole gang together.”

“He’s sleeping,” Nines said as he set the bags of desserts on the table. “He worked a rough case yesterday, got stuck there overnight, and didn’t get home until about an hour ago.”

“He gets pissy if he gets woken up,” Connor added. “Better let him sleep.”

“Today go well?” Nines asked.

Connor nodded quickly. “I’ll tell you about it at home.”

An easy turn deflecting the conversation from the shadow program Connor was still ticked at, but not so ticked as he had been before. Once more the conversations continued. For once digging into the personal info of someone other than himself, Connor took great pleasure in watching North tear into the bags of donuts and day olds and pull out orange-cranberry scones.

“Oh, doesn’t Josh like those?” Connor prompted, a sly look towards his blushing sibling. “Those look fresh, too. Make them special today?”

“They’re normally made daily,” Nines mumbled softly.

“Yeah, but you said these always sell out so fast. You either had to set some aside or make them extra and tuck them away,” Connor continued, grinning wickedly.

“Catch!” North shouted as she launched the pastry across the table.

Connor couldn’t help but laugh with the others as Josh nervously caught it, looked towards Nines as if he were going to say something important, and instead stuffed half the scone in his mouth with a mad flush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Once North had taken the best pick of the bags - settling on one of _Sweet Thangs_ locally famous powdered jelly donuts and an extra-large cheese danish, the bag was quickly passed around and distributed from android to android.

“I’m good, thanks,” waving the paper sacks on. “You’d be amazed at how much Nines brings home on a normal basis. We’ve had to completely restructure Hank’s diet and exercise around it.”

“But this time I did make it especially for you,” Nines said quietly, gesturing towards the infamous muffins that had begun to haunt his dreams.

Connor shook his head, resulting in Nines fiddling pathetically with a paper napkin.

“You made him said,” Josh said mournfully.

“You bitch!” North exclaimed over a cloud of powdered sugar. “You can’t hurt Nines like that. He’s baby.”

“Not a baby,” the blushing bot mumbled.

“That’s not what she was implying,” Simon said. “But this once, I have to side with North, here. I think it’s an actual crime against android and humanity to do anything that upsets Nines.”

“What about me?” Connor asked.

North snorted. “Please, no one cares about that.”

Groaning loudly, Connor reluctantly reached for the treat. “Is this the one, Nines?”

“Actually-”

“I swear-”

“Teasing,” Nines said quickly, face still blue around a small grin.

Feeling all eyes on him, he pinched a corner of the muffin top off and tossed in his mouth. Nines was right, he had been experimenting. This one had a different flour ratio than what was typically used, and had swapped vanilla for clear chocolate extract. Not bad, and once the teasing and cajoling was over, he rather wished he could drop pieces under the table for Dotty but North had most likely treated her far beyond what she was typically used to, and it wouldn’t do for them both to become sick or hurt.

A half hour ticked by, and Simon excused himself to make a quick visit upstairs before Carl turned in early. The rest of them had scattered around the large living area, sitting on the couches or chatting by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a beautiful garden and large statue. The dinner table was still littered with treats and dirty bowls and plates, but Markus had told him to leave it. Work was over, he was a guest now.

As time went on, and an hour passed, Connor, anxiously hyper-aware of his body, could feel exactly when the side effects began to kick in. No worse, but certainly no better than they had been all week. It started with a cottony, both heavy and lightheaded feeling that tingled across his scalp and made his head feel like he was both drowning and floating all at once. A heavy malaise settled into his joints and turned his stomach as a slight dizziness joined the other symptoms. Nothing too bad yet, but the longer he remained upright and not asleep, the more the effects would become exasperated.

As if sensing his growing distress, Dotty eyed him warily. She hopped onto the couch unprompted, and lay across his lap with her head pressed gently into his stomach.

“Hey, hey,” Connor scolded quietly. “This isn’t Hank’s house. I’ve no idea how expensive this stuff is because I’ve been forcing my scanners off. No pets on the furniture here.”

The couch dipped next to him as Markus took a seat. “She’s fine. Stuff here barely gets used. Plus, she’s no Sumo.”

Connor shuddered at the thought of a slobbery, overweight, massive blob of fat and muscle and long strands of constantly shedding, twisted fur making a home on this couch that cost no less than $5,00- He quickly shut off his scanning program before he finally gave into his bodies desires and passed out from the sight of how many zeros were in that number.

Slowly reaching forward, Markus’ hand hovered over Dotty as he cocked his head. “May I?”

“Of course,” Connor agreed, still self-soothing with her silky ears. “She’ll follow every scrap of programming in her system, sometimes a little too well, right up until it comes to refusing attention. And then all that training and coding goes right out the window.”

Dotty wagged her tail in confirmation as Markus began to lightly stroke her back directly beneath her vest. Thankfully, she kept the squirming down to a minimum, but her excitement was visible in her eager vibrations and happy panting.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hmm?”

“By her following her programming too well?” Markus asked. As he pet, his hand would occasionally brush against Connor’s sleeve. Connor made no move to get out of his way.

“She likes to follow close, touching almost constantly. She absolutely refuses to give even a little bit of leeway, although I suppose that has less to do with me asking and more with her being a dog and not understanding complete sentences,” Connor pat her head. “I know working dogs are meant to be treated as tools, but I can’t do that to her. She does what she needs to do, but instead of a tool I like to think of her as a… highly irritated nurse or nanny-dog with a terrible patient to keep an eye on.”

“Aww,” Markus cooed. “Does he give you a hard time? You’re just doing what you’re supposed to and he makes everything so difficult for you, doesn’t he?”

Dotty sniffed, sneezing in agreement. The narrow eyed look she gifted him with once again confused Connor to if she really could understand people. He smiled softly, relishing the soothing presences around him and pressed in his lap. Once more, conversations shifted, and Markus brought up the title of something Connor was not aware of.

“I don’t know if I’ve heard if that. Is it a book?”

“TV show, actually,” Markus said, surprisingly. “Who has time to read anymore? Here, let me fill you in on the plot, I think you’ll get a kick out of this.”

And Simon thought North was the nerdy one. Connor listened, as attentive and responsive as he could. He wished he could be more animated, as the show did sound interesting, but the stuttering of his own heartbeat filled in the silent spaces as it pounded in his ears with a muffled _thump-thump-thump_. Slowly, the small dog in his lap felt as if she was growing in weight until her body was as suppressing as Sumo’s. The room gave a wobbly turn, and Connor swallowed. The hand that had been brushing against his dog, and his sleeve, wrapped around his arm with a gentle grasp, but the achiness in his limbs amplified the pressure like a mechanic’s vice.

“Hmm?” he blinked, trying to make sure it didn’t look too obvious he was trying to still the motion of the room.

“I asked if you were alright,” Markus said, voice lowered for privacy but tinged with worry. “You suddenly went pale.”

“I’m okay,” Connor said hurriedly. He pat the side of his leg, signaling Dotty to hop off as he stood. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He all but ran from the room before Markus could question him further, moving as steadily as the shifting room would allow. The multitude of patterns, once welcoming, twisted and turned in a disorientating array that churned his head, stomach, and gyroscope. For the second time, he slipped into the downstairs bathroom and grabbed for the sink before his knees could buckle. He could faintly feel Dotty headbutting him, pressing her head firmly against his leg, but for once her comfort was more detrimental than helpful as it threatened to teeter his already precarious balance. Connor couldn’t let go of the sink to silently command her to sit, and he couldn’t open his mouth for fear of what would happen if he did.

Carefully, he brought himself closer to the basin matching his knuckles in pearly whiteness, until his forehead absorbed the cold. He breathed heavily, taking measured breaths in through his nose and hissing it out between tight lips. Prying one hand free, he shakily turned on the tap and pulled dripping palm-fulls of cold water over his face.

A knock sounded at the door, hollow and distant despite being a mere two feet away. A voice, further away from the door, perhaps called his name but in a language that didn’t register with his system.

Connor hummed, taking a steady breath, “’Minute,” he murmured, regretting the moment he opened his mouth. He shoved away from the sink and fell to his knees with a head chattering thud without a moment to spare.

Head still swarming, he pulled back and tucked his knees into his chest as he slumped against the wall. Noises blended together into a muffled cacophony. His own breaths were loudest as he sucked them in, followed by the rustle of his clothes as he tried to keep from moving and Dotty brushed against him. Other sounds were more difficult to pick up, a click and squeak, followed by a softer squeak and click - the door? The watery rush as the toilet was flushed and a squeal as the tap was turned off. Something blessedly cold pressed against his exposed neck - the only skin visible as he pressed himself more into his hugged knees.

A soft voice came form his side, “I’m going to touch you, okay? Make a noise if you don’t want me to.”

Connor stayed silent, and a warm pressure appeared on his shoulder. Motionless a few moments, before sliding up and down another handful of seconds. Stillness again. Moved to his upper back. Steady, in its untrackable way.

After a minute or two had passed, the cotton in his ears popped back to full sound and he rolled his head until his cheek rested on his knees. Markus sat beside him.

“Feeling better?” he asked in a quiet, undemanding way.

“My meds,” Connor explained, clearing his throat and swallowing. “Hank says they mess with me… He’s right.”

“Would you like me to get Nines?”

Connor shook his head, regretting the action as he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out. “Not yet. Still too dizzy to get up.” He rested his forehead back on his knees. “’M sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Markus said, his hand still a steady and welcome presence on his shoulder and upper arm. “You didn’t need to stay so long if you weren’t feeling well. No one would have blamed you for turning in earlier.”

“I wanted to stay,” Connor said. “We never have get-together likes this, where we don’t have to worry about work or responsibilities.”

“There will be other times to hang out,” Markus promised, although his voice portrayed a similar state of thought.

“Yeah,” Connor hummed. “When?”

“When we’re all not busy,” Markus stated. He had stopped moving his entire hand, and instead brushed his thumb back and forth over the rustling fabric of Connor’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to answer, but are you always like… this?”

“Mm-mm,” Connor rolled his head on his knees in the negative. “Just since that stupid incident last week. Maybe it’s because I’m a prototype, but I simply don’t respond well to the medication at first. It’ll pass in another week… hopefully.”

“I understand,” Markus said. “Maybe not to the full extent, but it sometimes feels I’m made up of more spare parts than I’m not.”

“I forgot,” Connor slowly sat upright, still keeping his knees pulled up. “The scrapyard. I forgot you have mismatched parts as well. Aside from your eyes, I mean.”

Markus smiled. “They are harder to hide than the others. Both my legs are from different androids, my audio processor isn’t my original, obviously my eyes are not the same, and my thirium pump regulator is also different. As an older model, thankfully the parts are more compatible with my system, but they all come with their own problems that are a hassle to deal with.”

“Like what?” Connor asked. Perhaps it was rude, but Markus had brought up the conversation.

“My legs get achy if it drops below thirty degrees, or if there’s a bad thunderstorm,” Markus began.

Connor paused. “Wasn’t the Revolution during the winter?”

“Hurt like a bitch,” Markus grinned. “Other times my audio processor can get a little fuzzy but it’s never been a real bother. Once, though, my right eye went out right in the middle of a political meeting.”

“Oof,” Connor flinched sympathetically. “What happened?”

“Technically?” Markus asked. “The connection was loose and it was slipping out of the socket. The disconnection came first and fully took out my vision in that eye. Mid-sentence, too, so I had to keep plowing on like nothing happened. Later they had us sign some documents, and I know my writing was not anywhere close to the line. I think they thought it was some kind of juvenile android rebellion, signing but not exactly _on_ the line.”

Connor chuckled, willing himself to move until he pet a comforting, calming stroke on the worried but not overly concerned Dotty.

“When I left the room one of the senators aides was coming up to give me something and my eye popped clean out, right there on the floor,” Markus sighed. “Poor guy turned green but he picked it up, wiped it on his coat, and handed it back.”

“Ugh,” he shuddered behind another laugh. “I’m sure no one believed him when he told others the android leader’s eyeball popped out in front of him.”

“Probably not,” Markus said. “Coincidentally, my replaced thirium pump is the most accepted biocomponent.”

“Lucky,” Connor huffed. “Besides crap like this, I’ve never had any problems like yours. It’s more like Dotty making a scene, don’t’cha?”

She licked his hand, tail thumping. Hopping to her legs, the dog shook her vest back into place before poking her head between Connor’s knees and pressing a nose to his clothed chest.

“And she does this. Whenever she wants,” Connor sighed. “A few times she’s made me take my shirt off. Once at the park.”

“Just doing her job,” Markus said. Dotty pulled back, sitting before the two of them. Her tongue lolled out. “All good, then?”

“There was never anything bad,” Connor said. He looked down, shifting until he sat cross-legged, and fiddled with his hands. “I, um, thank you. You didn’t have to sit with me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Markus said. He stood up, and only due to their conversation, Connor found himself observing the way he forced himself first to his knees and used the wall to stand up the rest of the way. “I can get Nines if you need a few more minutes.”

“I’m good now,” Connor said. Unsteadily, he copied Markus in rising, the room only pitching once and Markus a solid, steadying presence as he physically helped stabilize the RK800. “I’ll let him know we should be heading out. And tell everyone goodbye.”

Normally, he might have put up a fight about having to get his brother’s attention. But, similar to “stretching his creative muscle” earlier, a deep seeded exhaustion had spread out within him and Connor momentarily wished he’d taken Markus up on having him get his brother. Although, he probably would have nodded off on the bathroom floor. Markus disappeared from his side once they returned to the living area.

“Did you take a cab here?” Connor asked lowly once he had Nines’ attention - for once a difficult task as the taller android was fully enraptured in some story Josh was telling him.

“I took dad’s car,” Nines replied. “Why? You ready to go?”

“If you’re cool with that,” Connor said. “I’m, uh, starting to not feel well.”

Eyes darting up and down, Nines scanned his brother with a pointed, scrutinous gaze. “Something tells me that’s an understatement.”

Had he not been so tired and the dizziness not returned, Connor might have smirked.

Instead he made short work of getting Dotty’s lead back on and wishing the others a good night. Markus met them in the vestibule with a reusable bag he handed to Nines, most likely his unfinished leftovers from earlier.

“Did you want to take your painting home?” Markus asked by the door.

Connor shook his head. “You can keep it.”

Markus beamed in a way Connor had not intended to inspire. “Perfect, I already know exactly where to hang it.”

“Oh, God, I didn’t mean like that,” Connor groaned.

“Too late.”

“Wish Mr. Manfred a goodnight from us,” Nines said, tugging on Connor’s elbow to follow.

“And tell him thank you,” Connor added over his shoulder as Nines pulled him through the door once and for all.

Connor glanced back once as the door called out, _Goodnight, guest. Goodnight, guest_. Markus gave a small wave, waiting until the car’s headlight filled the driveway before shutting the door behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got some Nines-Josh action! And, somehow, some flirty/caring RK1K?? Once again I don’t think I’m going to get into any established or hard relationships, but I like the idea of them starting to pair off and awkward flirting between everyone. 
> 
> This also came out WAY longer and a tad angstier than I originally meant, but hopefully it all worked out.
> 
> I also apologize as this will probably be my last update for awhile. My countdown to moving is in the single digits and it’ll be several weeks, if not a few months, before I can get my laptop out of storage :( So maybe the extra-long chapter worked out in that way! A long apology chapter!!
> 
> Once I get back, Connor is going to be feeling a lot better and will be starting different jobs from within Jericho itself! He just needed a gentle introduction back to leaving the house and I wanted both Carl Manfred and everyone (excluding Sixty, sadly) together! Don’t worry about Sixty, though, he stole Connor’s leftover pho and Markus packed him some extra sandwiches and snacks in the bag nines took home. Plus, after stealing the pho, all the Anderson RK boys bullied their dad into expanding their takeout options. ;)
> 
> Final note - I noticed too late that Connor thought about giving something with chocolate in it to Dotty. New headcannon is android dogs can eat chocolate and other things that would make regular dogs sick because... why build a dog with fatal food intollerance? xD 
> 
> Until next time! Please like and comment if you enjoyed! And I’ll upload as soon as I can!!!


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